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How did I get to be thirty, and a mother, without knowing how to kiss?

You lie on your back, sweet and sensual and heavy lidded, and I kiss you.

Gentle, nibbling kisses.

I taste your lips, the tip of your tongue. Run my tongue over your teeth, and smile.

Arms wrapping tightly; yours around me, mine around you. Bodies pressing together, cleaving to one another - How close can we get?

I, in a mood for silliness, run my tongue across the underside of yours, and hear your gasp, and feel it with my whole body.

My mood for silliness is banished at a blow.

I do it again. Harder.

Oh gods, your reaction is sweet, sweet, and I want more.

I probe.

I dart.

I suck

You... you sound like me: gasping and moaning and only snatching breath when you simply must.

This is ecstatic. 

A warm hard piece of sensitive flesh thrusting in and out of a warm, wet, soft, delighted place.

I'm... I'm fucking your mouth. I don't know how else to say it.

I'm in control.

Your body is mine to play with, to steer, to bring pleasure to. I revel in it.

Suddenly something changes and I know what you want. My mouth flies from yours and envelopes your wet hardness and sucks firmly and licks fast and in two strokes you're coming into me.

In a moment I sit up, with a delighted smile lighting me from inside.

You hold out your arms and I cuddle against you.

I liked that.

I want to do it again

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