Deceit - Part 6

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humiliation Sex  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by VanillaEssence

Angie loses control.

He moulds his body around hers, freeing her, releasing all her pent-up inhibitions, her mournful grief. Languishing under his forceful pressure, relishing the rub of his cusps of muscle against her back, the divine sensation of his proud flesh: erect, turgid, pressed into the crevice between her fleshy buttocks, she relents, she capitulates. Angie loses control, gasping as he kneads her doughy breasts. She reaches behind her and draws his hungry mouth to hers, kissing-him-some-more, then she covers his hands with hers, sliding his palms over her tummy, pausing to explore her deep navel, the concealed belly button, his rough hands, caressing her belly as she slips his fingers inside her satin briefs. She tantalises him, allowing him to fondle her soft, hairy mound,

‘Pull down my pants,’ she gasps, her voice hoarse, husky with sex.

Martin obliges her, stripping Angie’s satin briefs down as far as her knees. Mesmerized by her explicit nudity, her daring, final denouement in the mirror, he lets her go. She drops her pants, steps aside, reaching for her travel bag, breathing sharply, struggling to speak, she is so aroused,

‘Fetch the chair, Michael. Sit facing the mirror. Close your eyes. And wait.’

Angie goes to the bathroom. Martin fetches the padded chair. Sits, shuts his eyes, and waits…

‘You can open your eyes now.’

He opens his eyes. Angie is standing, facing him, wearing her rose satin slip. She has applied fresh lippy, some make-up, he sees: a bold slash of blusher, primal warpaint, scars her cheeks. She moves in closer. Angie reeks of statement-making sexy perfume. Martin has only smelled it once before, at an exclusive perfumery in Paris, the unmistakable fragrance of chocolate, red berries, and caramel: Angel, the 23-year-old cult fragrance by Thierry Mugler, the sexiest scent in the world. He is impressed. Her sharp aroma, her irresistible masque, her satin fetish panties, her satin slip, take his breath away. Overcome with pride for her, he wants to make love to her,

Angie. Angela. Angel. My Angel. My Angela. My Angie.

‘Well, Michael?’ she asks, posing for him with one hand on her hip, ‘Will I do?’

She is wearing single chain diamond dangle earrings that accentuate her pale face, that gild her graceful swan neck. She strokes the base of her throat with her slim fingers, her lips are sealed, her eyes are shining with tears, remembering her dead husband. For one sacred moment, Martin is lost for words, his heart goes out to her,

‘You look beautiful, Angie, just beautiful.’

She goes and sits on his lap, facing him, her arms wrapped around his neck. She kisses him. With just a secret left to share, she pulls her satin slip off over her head, and makes love to him.

Submitted: August 20, 2021

© Copyright 2021 hjfurl. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Well this is "the Angie late night freak show" isn't it.
Michael or is it Martin can only submit and enjoy.
Knowing Angie this could well be his "final meal" so to speak before his execution by "fatal attraction".

Tue, August 24th, 2021 6:48am


Carefully summarised, neatly assessed without giving the game away - unlike Damp Kitten! Thank you so much!

Tue, August 24th, 2021 11:23am

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