It was a very different world in those days…
“I’m going to the village,” her mother said, which was probably code for something. The village was a fair walk away, and I’m still not sure entirely whether it was indeed a village. If it was, it was a very big one – or a very small town.
“Okay,” I called through the door. It was all I could do, really, as – at that very moment – I was more concerned with her breasts (I had one in each hand) and her thighs (which were wrapped around my head). You probably get the general idea, although I ought to point out that I heard the door shutting at the exact moment I penetrated her.
The sex was hard and brisk, but lengthy and filthy. Over time it varied – in speed and intensity – but it was what we needed. We had, in all honesty, spent a lot of time having sex; we knew what to do to keep each other satisfied. She certainly was, and on account of the fact that nobody else was in the house at the time, she wasn’t afraid to let the neighbours know, either.
I’ve no idea what had been in my juice box that day. But, as I said, it was a very different world back then.
I hit my peak around about the time she hid her third. With a noise somewhere between a sigh and a scream, I shot rope after rope into her.
Click. That was the door closing. We were gazing at each other – her face was flushed into a pleasant state of red, and apparently I was too – and we were glistening with sweat. It was a warm day, certainly, but that probably wasn’t why.
“I’m back!” her mother called.
“Welcome back!” I trilled while trying to fix my sex hair before making a public appearance. “How long have you been gone for?”
“About an hour?”
“We just had sex for an hour,” I whispered, slipping back into the bed.
“How do you feel about it?”
“Yeah, me too.”
That evening, we went for a walk to the village…
…and it took us an hour.