Sex On The Chair

Stian has obtained and purchased and scored a state-of-the-art and modernistic and an all-singing chair and stall in his study that appears and seems like a lush and grand and unstinting throne all in all. Yes. We are going to have sexual intercourse and shag and rumpy-pumpy here. I cannot wait or cool my heels any longer. We have to get started. Fast; like nobody’s business; and at full speed and presto. Will you come affiliate with us and have fun as well? Will you?

I am dressing in nothing more than a glamorous and irresistible and tempting and prepossessing coal-black brassiere or solely bra. Down there I clothe and put on nothing other than sensuous, naughty, and sex-suggesting duo and twosome of Gee String. My extensive, spread out and far-reaching light brown hair is waved and curled and corkscrewed fashionably and voguishly and natty mirroring. Yes. I look gorgeous and alluring and drop-dead. Mirror, mirror—talking mirror, made it known to me so.

As Stian makes an entrance into the room and steps and marches towards me, I quietly and smoothly and properly haul and wrest my G-string off and downward for an instant and little while so he can sight and eye my scarlet, unshaven, stubbly and undisturbed in-the-pink vulva and clitoris. His mouth plummets and slumps open at that scene and sighting, his tongue stirring and wiggling and oscillating in sheer and thoroughgoing exhilaration and ado and elation. He looks like he is going to gorge and enjoy and guzzle me real crackers and crazed. Will he? I imagine and expect so, don’t you?

If you have been meditating and was so curious on what Stian himself is wearing, then now is squarely and smack on the precise and literal time to take the wraps and let slip as pertains to that. Yes. He looks yummy and lekker and nectareous. Just by making sheep’s eyes and giving him the glad eye, my vagina and pussy gets waterlogged and all drenched and soggy indeed. Imagine? Holy goodness! Tonight seems like it will be the best fuckery night ever, don’t you reckon so?

Cramped and snug and so close-fitting, his underwear and smalls are fixed tight and fast so that his great, heavy, and whacking bulge of his penis and testes is taken the wraps off and laid bare and uncovered to coherent and obvious and recognizable and incontrovertible view. Just the seeing and eyeballing of his bulky and irresistible swell and puff out makes me slurp and swallow hard. I would give my eyeteeth just to sleep and have sex with him right now; I would kill and wipe anyone from the face of this Earth if doable and de rigueur or mandatory for me to fulfill and bring off that. Oh darn yes! I would surely and without any second brainwork or cogitation do that. Wouldn’t you work out the same if you happened to be in my shoes?

Whenever Stian swerves and reverses about, I get bewitched and hypnotized and hold spellbound greatly and transfixedly with the engrossing and enamoring and infatuating way and style and manner that his large, gigantic, and gargantuan arse and butt behind is dangling and swinging and drooping and sagging charmingly and enjoyably and pleasurably in that come-hither, arousing, and suggestive way that his underdaks or broekies are fitted and shaped. Am I the only chick and gal in the entire world who is so possessed and find irresistible and bewitching men’s large, soft, curvilinear bottoms and ass and hindquarters as well as their arousing and kissable and beddable underwear and undies? Am I?

After Stian has plonked himself down and taken the weight off his feet on the sumptuous, plush, and ritzy chair, I carry on to stir and budge myself after him, and with a leery and heedful and chary hand, I nab and seize his underwear and apace and at high speed remove and take them off marginally and a shade so as to strip naked and peel off from its liar and hiding place his extensive, humungous, and ginormous cock and penis. Having fondled and caressed and stroked and petted it tenderly and charily so that it straightens up and picks itself up erect and firm and uptight, I pull down my Gee-string too and having stroked and patted and caressed my sopping and wringing wet pussy too, I at last and in the fullness of time perch and settle and ensconce myself on his perpendicular and elevated and standing John Thomas so that it inchmeal and gradually and steadily ghosts and sidles into my pussy and cunt, tickling and contenting me. I revere and cherish the feel and sense and impression that the conk and cranium or head or noddle of Stian’s elevated and pricked-up cock and joystick whisks and spurs and kindles about inside of me. As I ricochet and resile and spring up and down his lap and thighs, punching and cuffing and tonking and swatting his mountainous, sweet, and mammoth penis inside my dwarf, Lilliputian pussy, I get all the more pleasured and flushed and electrified tingled and titillated. This is perfectly and one hundred per cent gee-whizz and breathtaking, is not it? Yeah. It definitely and doubtlessly and come what may is. I cherish and adore and worship sex with Stian as much as I have and do feel affection for him. Don’t you yourself?

As I mount and steer and climb and clamber on him, he grasps and grips and clasps his stubbly, unshaven big and Herculean hands on my mammary glands and large, giant breasts—pinching and squeezing and nipping them pleasingly and pleasurably but strongly and firmly as he does so. I have a preference for that…I cherish and savor it as a matter of fact. In no time he unshackles and unfetters and unbridles a great lot and illimitable deal of jism and jissom into me, ultra delighting and to the nth and very topmost closing degree making me come and reach my big O. Yeah. I orgasm and unearth and ferret upon my greatest sexual pleasure and satisfaction, don’t you yourself accomplish and effectuate the same?