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I unclasped it and her titties fell out. Calling them “titties” might be deceiving, hers were large and hung heavily without the bra. Her nipples were small and pierced, and her areolas were huge, as if they had been stretched nearly beyond recognition as her tits enlarged. I kissed, then licked, then sucked little, then nibbled. She tasted wonderful, maybe even a little salty. She held my head in her hands lightly and had begun to moan. After a few minutes of titty play I whispered “no Patchouli here…”. But you don’t have to stop…” I sat up and replied “I’ll come back baby.” I eased her back against the throw pillow so I could get at her jeans. Her blouse had been untucked and hid her belt, she had a huge buckle. Like a truckers! I stumbled a little trying to unbuckle it so she came to the rescue. In fact she undid her jeans and slid out of them for me, probably impatient with my clumsiness. Her thong didn’t match her bra. It was lacy, but white. Very pretty. Very sexy. She leaned. Slowly, deliberately she trailed her hands down her body. Her breasts heaving, her nipples a dark dusky pink matching some of the flowers. Her fingers rolling, pinching, tugging her peaks. Something powerful was driving her. She was biting her lip, her face a picture, that if captured would move any man, or woman. Having led herself so far, her magical fingers danced down her tummy. Her legs parted, her own trimmed bush, equalling the best topiary within the garden. Her legs parted and fingers found their way deep in her form, her sheath swallowing her fingers, her breath catching. Pushing herself closer and closer, her intensity building, until her scent was released and until her song rose on the air struck silent by the illicit beauty, I watched her, no, heard her commune with the spirits of ecstasy and her husband.Then tears fell.After what seemed like an age, she returned along the pathway. I was torn between following her and going to the bench to enjoy her scent. Her scent was.
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