Museum (3) | Vanillamom’s Blog

Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women'...
Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Sexual Fantasies (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Museum (3) | Vanillamom’s Blog.

“Stop.”

His words were crisp, and brooked no argument. But she was so fucking close. Her hips wanted to continue that hot slick glide, building to that intoxicating crescendo.  Her nipples were aching buds of hot need, her clit had a drumbeat that felt so loud she was amazed He didn’t hear it.

“please…” she whispered. “oh gods please…i’m so so close…”

“I know.” There was a smile in the dry tone.

There was a click and the picture went dark. Her pussy no longer on view, but still wanton.

“Rise, and dismount.” His hands guided her carefully down from the statue. She was embarrassed by the amount of wetness there.

“Clean that, please. I’m sure you know how.”

She blushed. Her skirt fell down over her ass, but her tits hung bare before Him. His hand reached out and flicked one nipple, startling her with the sharp erotic nip of pain.

“It is very hard to remove cum once it dries. I’d suggest you get on with your task.”

For a moment she considered using her hands, but then the devil got into her. She decided that she would show him just how good her oral skills were.

Looking at him, she let her mood reflect in her eyes. She was feeling decidedly naughty, her throbbing pussy spurring her into taunting him.

He sat, doing that little tug of pants over the knee that men do when they sit. His eyes stayed locked on hers as she gave a half-smile, then slowly slid her tongue between her lips. She teased the flared head of the statue’s cock, swirling over and around the bulging shape of it. Her fingers teased the hole where the cam was hidden, sucking at it, and tasting herself there.  Her eyes rose to his, and he cocked his head, brow raised in a half-smirk. Calmly He crossed one ankle over the other knee, hands almost primly folded together, low on his belly, the way men do. Helena focused. Her juices had pooled at the groin area of the statue, she should start there, but she was aiming to make Mr. Opheim twitch.

Her lips circled the head, and she moved down the shaft, trying to take as much as possible. Jaws stretched impossibly wide, she wondered if the artist had been true to life here, if Leo Opheim’s cock was truly as big as this. Last time she’d seen a dick this large she’d been sitting in front of her computer watching a porno with that Deen guy.

Slowly rising up the shaft, her lips left a thin trail of red of lipstick as she moved slowly upwards. The bronze torso was still warm under her hands. There was heat, too, from the rigid bronze penis in her mouth, from the hot wet place between her lips. She felt the heat where her breasts pressed against the metal figure, and in her empty, needy pussy.

“Focus,” she reminded herself. Her mouth popped off with an audible sound, then her tongue slid from tip to base. Eyes half closed, she lapped carefully, over the rough places where the statue’s hair was scrupulously formed in the bronze, and then around, lower, to where his balls lay. Her busy mouth sucked, her roving tongue flicked and fluttered carefully around the tumescent organ. Again her eyes flashed to him.

He was immobile in the chair, a half-smile on his face as he watched her. Did his hands hide the mate to this statue’s fine cock? Her mouth hungered to taste not herself, nor the sharp tang of metal on her tongue, but him.

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