Boston marriage - part I.

She moves toward me like this is ours. No need to hurry. Sandra knows the game and so do I. My blouse comes off first, the silk catching on my shoulder before it slips away. Her eyes track every inch of skin. I feel my nipples tighten under her stare. She steps closer, cups one heavy breast, and thumbs the tip until it aches. I reach behind her head and bring her down to meet me. Our mouths open, tongues slow and wet. She tastes like mint and smoke. Her shirt follows mine to the floor. Two pairs of tits press together, soft and full, pale skin and darker. I lean back on the bed, legs open. My fingers slide straight between them. She watches me work my clit in tight circles. The wet sound fills the room. I push two fingers inside and moan, low and shameless. Sandra sits opposite, knees wide, and follows my lead. Her hand moves fast between her own thighs while she stares at my cunt. We fuck ourselves like that, eyes locked, breath sharp. Each slick thrust, each soft whimper, pulls us deeper into this thing we share. The room smells of sweat and sex. Neither of us looks away.