THE PARTNERSHIP 2 LIZZY
- 4 years ago
- 39
- 0
Just Lizzy free porn video
Fuck, I really need to get laid. You know what I’m talking about: sex that leaves you with weak knees. I’m aching to feel the grip of a man’s strong fingers on my sensitive nipples, my face raw from rubbing against his stubble as we kiss. I really need to experience the kind of orgasm that triggers profanities to roll off my tongue with the ease of a drunken sailor.
However, pouring myself a drink, I’m painfully aware my battery operated boyfriend — otherwise known as Bob — would be the only one I’d be riding tonight. Bob has been my partner in sexual escapades for way too long, although I have experienced a few upgrades over time. I enjoy trying out the latest models, a few of which have looked like objects from the future.
I’ve used Bob so much over the years, I should have invested in Duracell stock or even in the ridiculous bunny banging a drum. Hindsight is often full of irony.
Sipping my drink, I’m trying to corral my racing hormones — but to no avail. Don’t get me wrong, Bob has plenty of positive attributes. He doesn't care if I shave my legs, doesn’t orgasm first leaving me hanging, nor does he steal my bed covers. I don't need a man to make me happy.
Oh, who the hell am I trying to convince?
My vibrator isn’t going to grip my ass and pull me close; it isn't going to pull my hair and ravish my neck. It definitely isn't buying dinner and it’s a horrible conversationalist. But, tonight, I might need Bob more than ever…. damn letter.
Sorry, let me back up a little bit…
~~~~
I’m Lizzy, just plain Lizzy, not really different from anyone else. Nope, can't think of anything really special about me. Unless you count my expertise in sex toys.
I followed the grand blueprint of life according to the Cosmo experts. In retrospect, I may have missed a few essential details. High school prom queen, check. College degree, check. Losing my virginity, check. Successful career, check. Not necessarily in that order, of course.
I developed a plan for my future but, by the time I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, I’d missed out on so much. God, I missed fucking.
My check list was devoid of anything that made me feel extraordinary. There’s no marriage nor children. Those I’d intended to check off after the successful career was achieved. I think I ran out of time or simply misplaced the damn list.
Don't get me wrong, I’m happy enough. I love people, I even shaped my career around helping others. I went to school to be a nurse, choosing a second degree in social work. I thought maybe if I helped enough people, just maybe I would feel special, feel needed. Looking back, I think I was trying to stay busy so I didn't dwell on all the missing things in my life. The unchecked items on my ‘to do’ list seemed to be from another lifetime.
My relationship with my college sweetheart, Stone was the only time I remember feeling special. During our romance, I felt desirable, sexy and even craved. I’ve often thought of that time. It’s impossible to ignore the difference in my life between then and now. With his love, I felt invincible. He enjoyed every minute of life and it was contagious. He saw beauty in everything, especially me.
We had unbelievable sex and I can still remember every detail. He had a sexual appetite that was never quenched, always hungry for more. He fucked me in an uninhibited, all-consuming way — the same way he loved me. He taught me to trust myself sexually and to let go and truly enjoy sex, whether fucking or making love.
Until Stone, I’d never allowed myself to be so free. I worried about every little detail. I was too worried to let go and enjoy life. He changed that. With him, I noticed the beauty in the smallest of things.
Fast forward twenty years. I’d spent time in some of the world's ugliest, most depressing places. All my humanitarian travels were an attempt to find the beauty in my life again. I was trying to give my life meaning and purpose and, with each trip, it seemed like those targets were even more elusive.
Finishing a trip to Africa, I had time to ponder my life on the twenty-two-hour flight back home to the US. I’d tried to pinpoint when life became so mechanical, so methodical. When had the thrill of being alive left my soul? When had I stopped smelling the roses?
Fourteen people had gone together to Africa, not counting Bob. We’d traveled to various villages and orphanages. It was a gut-wrenching, sad experience, the kind that cleanses your soul. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I’d signed up in a vain attempt to feel needed and aiming to find my life’s meaning.
The trip made me realize I needed to create meaning for myself. It made me more determined not to keep letting life pass me by.
Now exhausted, I closed my eyes to rest during the flight home and pondered my incomplete check list. Strangely, no matter how deep I was in thought, I couldn’t ignore the horrific smell that passengers were having to endure, courtesy of my group. It was the musky, dirty smell of people who’d not experienced the luxury of running water for fourteen days. It seemed almost cruel to inflict it on innocent travelers sitting close to us.
Safely on the ground, I hurried embarrassedly through the airport to get my luggage and hail a taxi. Poor taxi driver. Eventually, we arrived at my apartment and I handed the driver a generous tip while profusely apologizing for the stench.
Out of habit, I grabbed my mail on the way through the lobby and casually tossed it onto the foyer table. No time to sort it, I needed to shower. Shedding my clothes, I left a haphazard trail of luggage and clothing from the foyer to the bathroom.
The shower was pure heaven. Steam rising in billowy clouds of warmth, the flow of hot water seemed to rejuvenate both my outer body and my weary soul. The smell and the filth were cleansed by my favorite body wash, an amazing summer scent of citrus, fragrant flowers and a hint of coconut.
I swear if I closed my eyes while using it, I could see a beach, feel the sun, and hear waves. That night I was too tired. Standing under the hot water, I closed my eyes, only envisioning the filth being washed away.
Between the fragrance and the hot water, I began to feel refreshed. I traced the path of the hot water with my hands, caressing my body. Absent-mindedly, I tweaked my hardened nipples, inciting a quiet but audible gasp. Relaxing, I widened my stance and put one hand on my swollen clit. Rubbing the nub in tight firm circles, I moved my hips against the pads of my fingers.
I was on autopilot but, damn, I really needed a release. Tighter, faster, harder... it took only a few minutes for my body to succumb to the pleasure. The orgasm was perfect, gripping and strong. My body jerked and quivered, my fingers dripped with warm nectar.
The hot water turning cold jerked me back to reality. In the same moment. I felt exhaustion taking hold again. It was overpowering. I needed sleep. Reluctantly, I realized I could not stay in the shower forever, so I climbed out on wobbly legs and towel dried. I lathered myself in lotion, intending to head straight to bed.
On my way, I saw the imposing stack of mail on the small table in the foyer. I almost stopped to sort it but the letters and messages could wait until after I’d had a night’s sleep.
Suddenly, it caught my attention and time froze. It was a strangely familiar deep tan envelope, almost hauntingly familiar. I couldn’t breathe, couldn't form a sensible thought. I was awestruck by the resemblance to envelopes my college sweetheart would send me almost daily after I’d first left town.
Impossible. It had to be an unlikely coincidence.
I tried not to imagine, or hope, it was from him. That would open up my heart to all kinds of memories, longings — and mostly regrets. Yet… I couldn’t wait till morning to find out. I tentatively reached out with a trembling hand.
I nearly dropped the envelope when I saw the writing. Calligraphy so delicate, so purposeful, and so unique had been the ace up his sleeve. No girl could reject such beauty. I knew the letter must be from Stone.
But why would he contact me now? Why, after twenty years?
I ran fingers over the smooth envelope, tracing the grooves of the writing, frustrated by the lack of a return address. Memories of him came flooding back. I could just throw it away, avoid opening the possible Pandora's box of its contents. But, I didn’t need further ‘what ifs’ in my life. It had to be opened.
I sat on the couch, legs drawn up under me, trying to find the courage to open the envelope. My hands were trembling, the beat of my heart palpable.
We’d been so in love, so inseparable, until I’d left town with a scholarship to graduate school. We’d sworn our undying love. But, as time passed, he became only a memory. A beautiful cherished memory. Every following relationship felt forced, like work, and I wouldn’t settle for less than the spontaneous, effortless love ours had been.
I finally worked up the courage to open the beautiful envelope. Wedding invitation, family death, birth announcement....there had to be a simple explanation for this contact after twenty years.
On beautiful embossed paper, the letter inside was written in his stylish hand. Too short for a letter, it was only a few short sentences, more like a note. The top of the gorgeous paper featured a hotel logo and address. He was here!
I read:
In town for a few days. I need to know if any spark is still there, if there is any love left in your heart. I will be waiting in my hotel bar at seven on Friday. We can see where the night takes us. Maybe magic can be recreated. Please be there, Lizzy.
Stone
My heart pounding and mind racing, I placed the letter on my nightstand and lay in my bed, which suddenly felt unfamiliar. It seemed like an eternity before sleep finally won the battle with nostalgia. My dreams that night were of him.
Could one envelope, one short note, really change everything? And Friday? That was a lifetime away. That’s to say, three days felt like a lifetime. I dreamt of the endless nights of pleasure we’d shared in college. The way we explored the boundaries of sexuality, how we broke any boundaries we did find. We were fearless and insatiable.
I dreamt amazing dreams of a one-in-a-million love in the most exciting years of my life. The exhaustion held me in limbo, a paralyzing world between dreams of my past and actions of my present. At some point, the dreams became so vivid that my subconscious self had to act on them.
A hand teased it’s way down my body to my soft cotton thong, soaked from dream after dream of our sexual adventures. My shaking hand slid across the damp fabric just above my pussy. Fingers slid beneath the thong, tracing my puffy outer lips, feeling the slick nectar-covered folds still swollen and plump from my earlier masturbation in the shower.
Even in my exhausted state, I was able to nimbly slide fingers between my swollen lips and almost immediately find my clit. As I rubbed it firmly, memories continued to flood my senses and I easily inserted a finger into my dripping hole. My muscles eagerly gripped it.
Fingering myself, my thumb frantically rubbing my clit, I recalled making love in the college locker rooms after swim practice: not the most romantic environment unless you enjoy chlorine mixed with body odor. We got off on the thrill of possibly getting caught. Obviously, it was something I never forgot.
An intense orgasm rocked my body for the second time since I’d got home. I almost felt guilty for neglecting Bob. He was still packed in my luggage but the memories of Stone had supplied plenty of fuel for my second orgasm. Then came sleep, beautiful, peaceful sleep.
I slept for hours, not moving, not stirring. Just sleep — and amazing dreams of my sweet, long ago love.
When the morning light shone through my bedroom window, that’s when I saw it again, the deep tan envelope with his instantly recognizable calligraphy. It left me pondering again: could one envelope change everything, a life?
The next three days crawled. Time ceased to be measurable. Every minute my mind was consumed by the passion of the past or nervous anticipation of the future. How long had it been since I felt this sort of anticipation? So many memories…
Finding a place to fuck had never been a problem for us. We were creative and viewed the world as our own personal bedroom. Inspiration to fuck popped up everywhere and we took advantage of every single opportunity. It was the most sexually liberated period of my life and our love thrived on spontaneity.
At crowded parties, Stone would place my hand on the bulge of his cock. I would silently get him off, stroking him on top of the denim in the middle of a room full of people. No one appeared to notice that we were in our own world of pleasure.
He would often stop studying, turn to me, and roll me over on the bed to face him. Spreading my knees, he’d bury his face in my pussy. After I came, he would claim he’d been hungry and needed a study break for a snack. His favorite snack was always me. He would devour me, licking and sucking me to orgasm in minutes. And he taught me to love the way I tasted. He would kiss me long and deep after eating my pussy, letting me enjoy the taste of myself on his mouth.
Over the three days after receiving the letter, I masturbated often as memories came flooding back.
Despite still lacking sleep on my second night home, my clit again responded to thoughts of him, swelling into a firm little button. I felt it as my nipples strained against the silk nightgown. Beads of perspiration layered my skin as I rubbed faster and fingered harder. I wanted to orgasm to the thoughts of him. I slid a second finger inside: I was so wet, so tight. For the second night in a row, my body gave into the power of my memories. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d climaxed so intensely.
°°°°°°°°
Finally, Friday morning arrived.
Subconsciously, I pretended to be torn but I knew I’d be meeting him as requested. Then I decided: one last orgasm before I get up; it will clear my head. I imagined him watching me as I frantically rubbed my clit, stopping only to suck the juices off my fingers. Yes, that’s what he’d do if he were here. He loved to taste me, loved to share it when we kissed after he’d eaten my pussy. God, I had truly loved him.
The tingling sensation was building, and I instinctively arched my back. I was close and the closer I got, the more I realized how badly I had needed this. Oh God, so close. With my free hand, I twisted and pulled my hard, rubbery nipples, tugging hard enough for tiny gasps to escape my mouth. I’d missed him pinching and tugging my nipples. He knew exactly how far to push me, just how hard to pinch and pull.
I was up to three fingers in my pussy, Bob still in my unpacked luggage like a relic from another time. Head pressed into the pillows, I raised my hips, pushing against my hand, imagining it was his hand, his fingers. I needed him. I hadn’t realized until that very moment how badly I wanted him, or how much I’d missed him. Those thoughts were interrupted by an orgasm which gripped my entire body. Profanities rolled off my tongue, echoing through my empty apartment.
As I recovered, I remembered the first time he’d taken my ass. It was in a restroom of our favorite Italian restaurant. We’d enjoyed several courses of foreplay during dinner and we couldn’t stand the idea of waiting till we got back to my dorm room. So we’d ventured to the bathroom, hand in hand, giggling, two young adults in love and desperate to have each other.
He’d taken me into the stall, told me to lean forward, raised my short skirt and pulled my panties to one side. He’d fingered me hard and then smeared the juices around my small, tight bud. With the head of his large cock poised for penetration, he’d told me to relax and the sex would be amazing.
After his first thrust, I’d let out a groan that I was sure the other diners must have heard. The initial pain had been intense and I tried to muffle my moans for fear of getting caught. But, suddenly, just like he’d said, my body finally relaxed and I became used to the fullness of his amazing cock in my ass. Once I relaxed, I knew I would become addicted to having his cock in my tight ass, stretching and molding me.
That was the greatest orgasm of my life. A mind-blowing orgasm that lasted for what seemed like minutes, the kind that left you gasping for air and on the verge of tears.
It was a physical and emotional release that I’ve since chased for many years but never been able to recreate. But right now, I had another concern: would one chance encounter with a lost love be worth it?
I knew the pain I would experience if I opened myself up and I lost him again. I knew the torment of comparing every other love to him.
I ran my fingers over the smooth envelope, over the indention of the calligraphy. Then, hands trembling, I picked up the phone to make dinner reservations at a restaurant near to Stone’s hotel. I had no option but to meet him in his hotel bar because I simply couldn't spend forever not knowing what the night might have brought.
Thinking over, I chose a restaurant — one that I knew had very nice bathrooms…
Author's Note: I want to thank JWren for his editing (and patience). With his help I am learning and growing. It is such a blessing. Thank you. ~ Lilly
Stevie
- 18.08.2022
- 19
- 0
- Category:
- Masturbation
