Mom Porn Casting - A Secret Weapon For Bedroom Casting Couch

I'm disappointed because you can't come see me as we initially planned, and I'm trying to manage my feelings. I try to let myself feel the disappointment, temper it with rational thoughts. I'm concerned because negative feelings often turn to apathy, and I want to hold onto this. I don't want to tell you I'm disappointed because I'm not sure it's appropriate for me to care, and I don't know if you, like me, get weary when someone cares too quickly. As a compromise to myself, I jokingly say that we should meet in Havana instead, a throwback to my initial message to you. You say, "make it Kingston, and we'll take a puddle hopper." So we do, and you fly the plane. I don't know where or how the arrangements were made for the plane, but it's just me and you. I'm fixated watching you push buttons and move levers on a dashboard that looks vast to me, but your movements seem effortless, like a musician at a piano. You're wearing cargo shorts, and I'm fighting the urge to slide my hand up your thigh. I want to feel your cock in my hand. I want to learn how to move my hand precisely to make it bulge. I want to see how my hand looks wrapped around it, whether my nail polish goes well against color of your skin. I want to watch droplets of cum form around the tip; and I'm biting my lip, thinking about licking those droplets off. In my periphery, I can see the sky moving past the windshield. But my eyes are fixed on your lap. I'm so caught up that I don't notice that you see me staring. When I catch your eye, I manage to fight off a blush, an old trick of going numb. I still won't let you know how badly I want you. I'm not sure whether to let out a shy smile or are dirty grin, and in my indecision, my face stays blank. But you smile anyway because you know, and you graciously turn back to look straight out the windshield. We land, we walk around the streets. You want to get motorcycles, but I've never driven one, so I ask if we can get scooters instead. "No," you say, "you'll ride with me." We're on the bike, my hands wrapped around your waist. I can feel your abs tighten as we lean into turns. I want to put my hands under your shirt and feel the skin, but I won't, because you can't know. I'm resenting my helmet because I want to put my head against your back. That amount of affection I can bear displaying. But I can't do either, and I'm in agony. I roll my hips forward, and under my skirt, my panties feel thin against the seat. The vibrations on my clit make my stomach quiver. You're taking the turns so quickly, accelerating so rapidly, that I'm wondering if you're partly motivated to make me grip you tighter, or maybe that's just my fantasy that you want me as badly as I want you. Do you want my body pressed against yours? Do you want to be the one who puts me in danger while keeping me safe? In a remote village, we find a hotel of sorts and get a room. You walk in first, and I lock the door behind me. As I turn around, you're standing in front of me, facing me. With the door right behind me and your body so close, I can't move freely. You take my hand and press your fingers into my palm, and I grip like a reflex, looking up at you with excited trepidation. You bring my arms to wrap around the back of your neck, and then drag the backs of your hands from my wrists to shoulders, down my side, waist, hips, and around to my ass. You squeeze, then twice, maybe too hard, and my eyes flinch. I thought it was subtle enough to go unnoticed, but I catch a condescending cocked eyebrow. You pick me up, my legs wrap around you as you push my back into the wall with strength and intention, pushing the air from my lungs. The air comes out as a whimper and sigh. Carrying me, you walk over to the bed and sit at the edge. You kiss me as you slide your fingers through the hair on the back of my head. I increase the intensity of the kissing, and you tighten your grip on my hair, pulling my head back with steady deliberation. Holding my head firm, you lean in and kiss just my bottom lip, then the top, and every time I try to kiss you back, you pull my head back. I'm dying because I've been thinking about finally kissing you for months, and I know you're toying with me just because you can. I'm not sure yet whether I want to cede all this control to you. My desire is mixed with anger. I clench my fist in frustration and think about drilling it into the side of your ribs. I try to kiss you again and as you deny me again, you smirk, and at that, I punch your side. Startled and perhaps amused, you ask if I'd like to try that again. I want to say I'm sorry, that I'll settle down and cooperate, but I find myself nodding yes, quivering because I don't know you or what I've gotten myself into. I cock my arm back again, testing you; and I'm serious, not smiling, and scared because I don't feel in control of myself or the situation. You don't react until I start to move my fist towards you, and in some deft movement, you've spun me around and pulled me against you, my back against your chest, your left arm wrapped around my neck in the crook of your elbow, and your right hand holding my offending wrist. I bring my left hand up to your arm and pull at it, more of a gesture of protest than an actual attempt to move it. You say, "Stop." Your voice is firm but not unkind. You move backwards on the bed, dragging me with you, propping yourself against the pillows. I'm lying face up on your chest, and my left hand is still at your forearm. But now I take comfort in feeling the firm muscle locked around my neck, and I move my right hand there too. I start to relax and tilt my head, feeling your bicep against my cheek. "Honey," you say, "I know you want this, you've told me that. I'm going to touch you, and you're going to be calm." You put your free hand on my bare thigh, and move it up, bunching my skirt around my waist. You give a quick double tap to the inside of my other thigh, and I respond by opening my legs. "Thatta girl," you say. You start rubbing the outside of my panties. I'm so wet they're soaked through. I want you to move them aside, glide your fingers around my slippery pussy, tease my clit, and put your fingers - two of them - inside me. I won't say it. I'm concentrating on my breathing, careful not to give you the satisfaction of a moan or whimper. You ask me, "if I let go of your neck, can you promise to stay still?" I don't answer. With your right hand, you grab a fistful of my hair, jerking my face around so I'm looking at you. "Well?" you say. I clear my throat to speak but words won't come out, so I nod. As you release my neck, you gently push me forward so I'm sitting up straight. "Arms up." I obey. You pull my dress over my head and unhook my bra, then slide it off, one arm then the other. Perhaps ahead of cue, I lie back on you. With both hands, you draw each of my arms up and around the back of your neck. You say, "keep your hands there, doll, you're doing fine." You put one hand of each of my breasts and squeeze. I can tell from your guttural sigh that you're pleased. You roll your thumbs over my nipples then pinch them, rolling them gently, like you're experimenting with a toy. When I shiver, you kiss the top of my head. It feels like electric shocks running straight from your touch to my clit. I'm still concentrating on my breath, but I can't help it from coming out in short bursts. I need the attention to come off of me, so I ask if you'd let me suck your cock. You say yes, and in addition to relief, I feel excited because I want to show off, and to be busy, and to please you. As I undo your belt, I feel its soft leather texture, and I want it wrapped around my neck. I want to be collared. I won't tell you that. Your cock is already hard when I put it in my mouth, but I feel it grow harder against my tongue. I move my whole body in long slow bobs, arching my back on the way down. "Go deeper," you say. I do, but I don't go all the way down. I'm holding back, and I think you know it. You grab the sides of my head, pushing my face into your pelvis. Your cock slides down my throat, my lips are against your balls. I'm focused on keeping my throat relaxed. I think you're trying to make me gag, but I won't. I can't breathe, but I won't tap out. Finally, you let go and I pop up, gasping for air, my eyes watering, my mascara smeared down my cheeks. Timidly, I ask, "do you want more?" You say yes and tell me that you want me to go all the way down. As soon as I've got all of you down my throat, you take my head in your hands, pushing it down as you thrust your hips forcefully into my mouth, pounding it, and I can feel my throat getting sore. I want you to stop, but more badly, I want to prove I can handle it. Suddenly you stop, and I'm grateful and want to roll over and catch my breath. But you put one arm under me, scooping me up to my feet. I'm facing you, standing on the floor. You look my body up and down, then linger on my eyes and tell me I'm beautiful. I smile a little. You turn me and bend me over the bed. You put your fingers inside me, and they glide easily; I'm dripping. Your other hand is on the small of my back. My protest is apparently over because I'm moaning and gasping. "Do you want me to fuck you?" you say. I don't answer because I can't think. You take your fingers out. You smack my ass. You ask again. I say, yes please. You smack the other cheek. You smack the first side again, and it's hard, and I cry out. You gently rub the red marks on my ass and tell me, "I really wish you would answer when I talk to you." "I'm sorry," I say. You say, "now tell me what you want." "I want you to fuck me. Please." "Atta girl," you say. I'm surprised when you smack my ass again. Then finally, finally, I feel you slide inside me. Holding onto my hips, you pull me against you with each thrust. I'm on my forearms and biting the sheets to keep my mouth busy. You smack the side of my ass and tell me to look at you. With the sheets still in my teeth, I prop up and look up from my right side to meet your eyes, holding your gaze as you keep thrusting into me. With your left hand, you grab my hair, angling my head so I'm looking forward, and you pull. I arch my back to ease the tension, and I can feel each thrust through my hair. Then you push my head down into the bed, and I feel limp as you're moving in and out of me. You bend forward, kiss my back as you pull out and tell me to stay put. You walk around to the opposite side of the bed and tell me to flip onto my back. You kneel down on the floor, your face even with mine on the bed, and you kiss me. Then you stand up and pull my body closer to the edge so my head is hanging off the bed. You tell me to open my mouth, and I do. With one hand you grab my jaw to open my mouth even more, bracing the other hand on the edge of the bed. You slide your cock into my mouth, pounding on my already sore throat. You ease the intensity and move your hand from my jaw to my pussy, fingering me as you're pumping your cock in and out of my mouth. I'm building up. I'm trying hard to keep my throat relaxed, but the intensity from your fingers on my pussy is making me writhe. I work up the courage to tap your leg, a request to regain use of my throat, and you step back, freeing my mouth. Gently, you ask, "what is it?" I say, "Can I ride you? Please let me ride your hard cock. I need it." bullshitusername