He said nothing as she shook. The after tremors racking through her body for an age. Eventually, when they subsided, a calm voice said, " You may put your leg back down, Primrose, now if you desire?"
Sex for Peter had been both a participation sport and a performance art. A duet, a dance, and a doubles match. At times a chess game of probes, combinations, and position. A waltz, rumba, tango, or a punk pogo. Then a zen moment of pure unthinking action. Yet those were only the great experiences, and sadly not all of them were up there. For those less than inspiring moments, there was the secret well of fantasy, just as we all have. To be drawn upon when thirst required it. In there, anything was possible and permissible, so long as it stayed in there. A walled garden that only he had the key to, until now.
"I wanna suck your cock and I want it clean!"
"Take me home," she pleaded.