Mary Tyler Moore Oh Mr Grant
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En Vacances 3: Grant free porn video
En Vacances 3: Grant
“I want a drink.”
My words sound petulant in my ears like a small child demanding a treat; and my tongue, unused to forming words, feels thick in my mouth. It had seemed like a good idea holidaying alone, ten days in the sun, an opportunity to relax and recharge my personal batteries away from the daily grind, but a holiday can be a lonely place and I’ve spent three days lying alone, eating alone, drinking alone and sleeping alone.
I find myself trying to remember the last time I’d spoken to someone; the last time my lips and tongue had worked in unison to produce intelligible sound. Breakfast was self-service, and I’d avoided the a la carte restaurant in favour of the more relaxed buffet. Here I’d hid myself at a corner table sipping at a large glass of wine and picking at the food I’d scattered across my plate whilst making sure I avoided eye contact with any of my fellow guests.
I’d given my name when I checked in on arrival, and last night, feeling hemmed in by the four walls of my hotel room, I braved the bar, found a dimly lit table, ordered myself a couple of drinks and let my eyes surreptitiously drift across my fellow patrons.
So now, perched on my stool, Anita’s hand pulling assertively at my wrist, my own voice sounded less familiar in my ears than hers.
“Of course, but there’s no point hanging around in here, the bar boys will be outside somewhere. They’re supposed to be circling the pool but they’re probably up in the hotel flirting with the maids.”
‘Flirting with the maids’: for some reason; perhaps it was the sun or the heat or the ready availability of partially clothed flesh parading before my ogling eyes; ever since arriving my body had become a seething mass of sexual need. I’d done my best to satisfy myself; my fingers never straying too far from the soft, pulsating crevice between my legs. Masturbation had become my only pastime; teasing myself by the pool; lying on my bed, legs spread wide, four fingers buried to the knuckle inside my needy pussy; waking in sweat soaked sheets, my head buried in my pillow as a solitary finger slides repeatedly into the grasping star of my anus; sat on my balcony, legs perched on the rail, my demanding clitoris pushing frantically at the fine white lace separating it from the casual strokes of my perfectly painted fingernails; locked in the shower, water stinging my sun-dried skin, my body slippery with soap, as I lean back against the wall and finger fuck my repeatedly orgasming pussy until exhaustion forces me to my knees.
Yes, I’d done my best, but all my fingers seemed capable of achieving was to send me spiraling ever upward, so that now my every living breath was a panting, quivering, soaking, dribbling, shaking, hopeful exhalation of lust.
Yet now here was someone to save me from that; lovely Anita with her cascading hair, starring eyes and fulsome lips, who perhaps desires the caress of my fingers over her ample breasts, who wants to feel my lips kissing their way across her glowing skin, who needs my tongue lapping at the slippery wetness of her pussy as the soft squidgy flesh of her thighs closes around my trapped head.
And here was I whining about wanting a drink.
I allow her to pull me from the stool, my soaking thighs and pussy sliding across the cum slick PVC, and stand before her shivering nervously. I hold my body proudly upright, allowing her to inspect properly my perfect little girl body. Despite my 4” sandals and her lack of footwear she is still comfortably 3 inches taller than me and her fleshy body dwarfs my tiny, nubile frame. I stand and wait as her large brown irises ran up and down my body.
“Oh dear, it looks as if someone has made a bit of a mess.”
Her hand on my wrist bids me to turn and I rotate taking care that my shaky legs don’t lose their balance on the slightly precarious perch of my wedges. Her free finger is pointing behind me to the bar stool I so recently vacated upon which, unabsorbed by the shiny PVC fabric, is an obvious and quite substantial pool of very naughty pussy juices.
I redden, instantly ashamed that my wanton desire and uncontrollable lust should be so clearly advertised and that lovely, pretty Anita should have to discover what a depraved and indecent creature I really am.
Yes, I know it’s silly. Yes, I know that she had already viewed me masturbating on my sun lounger, pursued me here and used my wet, sticky fingers to pleasure her own hot, needy, pussy. But shame is shame and there is no point trying to argue logically with it.
Worse still, my pussy, instead of hiding embarrassed within my tiny, stretched, bikini briefs, quivers excitably at the discovery, my clitoris throbs insistently, ripples of pleasure resonate along the length of my vulva to collect in the persistently spasming star of my anus and, to my eternal shame, I feel another steady trickle of arousal seep through my soaked panties and slide its way down my thighs.
“Well we can’t leave it like that. What will people think?”
Anita’s words are filled with laughter, gently mocking me, and I fidget like a naughty school girl brought up before the class who suddenly suffers from an overwhelming urge to pee. And as she talks, as she gently chastises me for my lack of control, she reaches forward, rolls a pair of her shapely fingers through my gooey mess and then holds them, my sticky cum coating their every inch and dribbling down to dirty her knuckles, in front of my face.
I’m shaking; nervous energy and arousal making me light-headed, my vision flickering, everything falling slightly out of focus; everything that is, apart from those long, delicate fingers waiting patiently before my slightly parted mouth.
Her expectation is clear. I created the mess, she’s assisted me with cleaning it up, but ultimately it is my mouth that needs to take responsibility for leaving the stool and her fingers as fresh as on my arrival. I open my lips wide and push my tongue forward ready to receive her cum-soaked digits. Yet still they hover unmoving before my face, pussy juices hanging in ever lengthening beads from her fingertips.
A light bulb goes on in my lust clouded brain; realisation. I close my eyes and slowly lower my head; my widespread lips and saliva slick tongue reaching out until droplets of cum collect on my chin and I safely surround her slippery fingers with my soft, sensitive mouth.
A moan builds in my throat as I slurp on her wonderfully flavoured fingers. I suck them deep into the back of my throat, my tongue flicking up and down their length, swirling in and out between them, darting hither and thither, exploring, seeking, cleaning every last droplet of my lightly salted cum from her pretty digits.
Beneath my mouth all is chaos; my tightly restrained chest heaving, my stomach muscles spasming, my legs shaking so badly that I’m certain that at any moment I’ll collapse into a damp, pulsating, orgasming heap on the floor because between my barely parted thighs wave after endless wave of pleasure crashes through the depths of my empty pussy.
I may have cum standing there sucking on her fingers; I don’t know. I may have been cumming constantly since she watched me slide my fingers deep into my wet pussy half an hour ago. Certainly, ever since my vaginal muscles haven’t stopped spasming as pulses of pleasure, like lightning bolts, zigzag their way throughout my sex and cum juice has flowed from between my legs like a water main with a burst faucet.
Her fingers exit my mouth leaving it empty, panting, dribbling and needy. Her arm circles my waist; pulls me into her, holds me upright as my legs collapse beneath me. Without that arm, without her hand tightly circling my wrist, I’d be little more than a giant, twitching pool of cum juice spreading across the bar’s cool tiled floor.
“I think we ought to go and find you that drink.”
So she leads me; left hand gripping my left wrist, her right arm encircling my narrow waist, her right palm burning into my quivering stomach as her saliva damp fingers teases their way along my panties line and stroke the gentle bulge that signals the start of my pubic mound.
She leads the way out of the bar and I wiggle along beside her, my legs weak, my footsteps uncertain, a fuzzy thumping clouding my head as we step once more into the sunshine and slowly wend our way back towards our sun loungers.
Human activity surrounds us; laughing children and agitated parents, the splash of bodies falling into choppy pool waters, the aroma of tobacco drifting in the air, conversations buzzing in my ears, sun cream and sweat invading my nostrils and the bright, merciless Mediterranean sun burning into my sunglasses protected eyes. I ignore them all; concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, on sliding one cum slick thigh across its partner as my soaking panties squelch between them and Anita’s pretty fingers tease my inflamed flesh with every step.
Eventually she comes to a halt before a pair of sun beds and I stutter to a stop at her side. Before us lies a man I half remember from a lifetime ago; he had a name, she’d told me his name, but somehow it has become lost in my lust befuddled mind. So I stand there; leaning into Anita, enjoying the feel of her soft, voluptuous body against my skin, loosing myself in the playful caresses of her fingers as they tease along my lower stomach and expecting at any minute to be dispatched back to my nearby sun lounger, where I will be able to lie back, shut my eyes and replay the mornings adventures.
Grant! That was his name. Well, Grant and Anita are having a conversation. I’m too busy enjoying Anita’s fluttering fingers and my post-orgasmic bliss to pay it much attention, but I’m sure that Anita asked Grant for the water which for some reason seemed to be a bit of a problem.
“Do you have the water?”
“The water?”
Yes, the water.”
“For her?”
Grant gestures in my direction and I give him my best, happy smile by way of reply.
“Yes, for her.”
Anita’s talking slowly, enunciating every word clearly, a far cry from the happy, endless torrent of words that tripped out of her mouth earlier.
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
She turns her head and smiles down at me. I’m not sure what I’ve done or why there is such a fuss about some water but I smile back and am just about to suggest finding a bar steward and mentioning that I’d really rather have a beer than some water when Grant butts in once again.
“Where did you find her?”
“Didn’t you see her, Grant? Sometimes you are so unobservant. She was lying on that sun lounger over there when we got here.”
“So?”
He’s inspecting me now; eyes traveling up and down my body. I sense a sneer of displeasure as he takes in my sternum dominated chest and tiny titties and I wriggle discomforted even as Anita’s fingers make soothing motions just above my groin. Their movement draws his eyes down until they come to rest on my swollen pussy, badly concealed beneath the drenched fabric of my too small panties. A leering smile plays around his mouth and, for the first time since I’d found sanctuary in the bar, I realise that my disgraceful, lust-crazed need is stained across my panties like a scarlet badge of shame.
My whole body; manicured fingertips to carefully painted toenails, unsplit hairends atop my head to my shaven, naked pussy, instantly glows crimson.
I decide that I’m not going to like Grant.
“I want a drink.”
My words sound petulant in my ears like a small child demanding a treat; and my tongue, unused to forming words, feels thick in my mouth. It had seemed like a good idea holidaying alone, ten days in the sun, an opportunity to relax and recharge my personal batteries away from the daily grind, but a holiday can be a lonely place and I’ve spent three days lying alone, eating alone, drinking alone and sleeping alone.
I find myself trying to remember the last time I’d spoken to someone; the last time my lips and tongue had worked in unison to produce intelligible sound. Breakfast was self-service, and I’d avoided the a la carte restaurant in favour of the more relaxed buffet. Here I’d hid myself at a corner table sipping at a large glass of wine and picking at the food I’d scattered across my plate whilst making sure I avoided eye contact with any of my fellow guests.
I’d given my name when I checked in on arrival, and last night, feeling hemmed in by the four walls of my hotel room, I braved the bar, found a dimly lit table, ordered myself a couple of drinks and let my eyes surreptitiously drift across my fellow patrons.
So now, perched on my stool, Anita’s hand pulling assertively at my wrist, my own voice sounded less familiar in my ears than hers.
“Of course, but there’s no point hanging around in here, the bar boys will be outside somewhere. They’re supposed to be circling the pool but they’re probably up in the hotel flirting with the maids.”
‘Flirting with the maids’: for some reason; perhaps it was the sun or the heat or the ready availability of partially clothed flesh parading before my ogling eyes; ever since arriving my body had become a seething mass of sexual need. I’d done my best to satisfy myself; my fingers never straying too far from the soft, pulsating crevice between my legs. Masturbation had become my only pastime; teasing myself by the pool; lying on my bed, legs spread wide, four fingers buried to the knuckle inside my needy pussy; waking in sweat soaked sheets, my head buried in my pillow as a solitary finger slides repeatedly into the grasping star of my anus; sat on my balcony, legs perched on the rail, my demanding clitoris pushing frantically at the fine white lace separating it from the casual strokes of my perfectly painted fingernails; locked in the shower, water stinging my sun-dried skin, my body slippery with soap, as I lean back against the wall and finger fuck my repeatedly orgasming pussy until exhaustion forces me to my knees.
Yes, I’d done my best, but all my fingers seemed capable of achieving was to send me spiraling ever upward, so that now my every living breath was a panting, quivering, soaking, dribbling, shaking, hopeful exhalation of lust.
Yet now here was someone to save me from that; lovely Anita with her cascading hair, starring eyes and fulsome lips, who perhaps desires the caress of my fingers over her ample breasts, who wants to feel my lips kissing their way across her glowing skin, who needs my tongue lapping at the slippery wetness of her pussy as the soft squidgy flesh of her thighs closes around my trapped head.
And here was I whining about wanting a drink.
I allow her to pull me from the stool, my soaking thighs and pussy sliding across the cum slick PVC, and stand before her shivering nervously. I hold my body proudly upright, allowing her to inspect properly my perfect little girl body. Despite my 4” sandals and her lack of footwear she is still comfortably 3 inches taller than me and her fleshy body dwarfs my tiny, nubile frame. I stand and wait as her large brown irises ran up and down my body.
“Oh dear, it looks as if someone has made a bit of a mess.”
Her hand on my wrist bids me to turn and I rotate taking care that my shaky legs don’t lose their balance on the slightly precarious perch of my wedges. Her free finger is pointing behind me to the bar stool I so recently vacated upon which, unabsorbed by the shiny PVC fabric, is an obvious and quite substantial pool of very naughty pussy juices.
I redden, instantly ashamed that my wanton desire and uncontrollable lust should be so clearly advertised and that lovely, pretty Anita should have to discover what a depraved and indecent creature I really am.
Yes, I know it’s silly. Yes, I know that she had already viewed me masturbating on my sun lounger, pursued me here and used my wet, sticky fingers to pleasure her own hot, needy, pussy. But shame is shame and there is no point trying to argue logically with it.
Worse still, my pussy, instead of hiding embarrassed within my tiny, stretched, bikini briefs, quivers excitably at the discovery, my clitoris throbs insistently, ripples of pleasure resonate along the length of my vulva to collect in the persistently spasming star of my anus and, to my eternal shame, I feel another steady trickle of arousal seep through my soaked panties and slide its way down my thighs.
“Well we can’t leave it like that. What will people think?”
Anita’s words are filled with laughter, gently mocking me, and I fidget like a naughty school girl brought up before the class who suddenly suffers from an overwhelming urge to pee. And as she talks, as she gently chastises me for my lack of control, she reaches forward, rolls a pair of her shapely fingers through my gooey mess and then holds them, my sticky cum coating their every inch and dribbling down to dirty her knuckles, in front of my face.
I’m shaking; nervous energy and arousal making me light-headed, my vision flickering, everything falling slightly out of focus; everything that is, apart from those long, delicate fingers waiting patiently before my slightly parted mouth.
Her expectation is clear. I created the mess, she’s assisted me with cleaning it up, but ultimately it is my mouth that needs to take responsibility for leaving the stool and her fingers as fresh as on my arrival. I open my lips wide and push my tongue forward ready to receive her cum-soaked digits. Yet still they hover unmoving before my face, pussy juices hanging in ever lengthening beads from her fingertips.
A light bulb goes on in my lust clouded brain; realisation. I close my eyes and slowly lower my head; my widespread lips and saliva slick tongue reaching out until droplets of cum collect on my chin and I safely surround her slippery fingers with my soft, sensitive mouth.
A moan builds in my throat as I slurp on her wonderfully flavoured fingers. I suck them deep into the back of my throat, my tongue flicking up and down their length, swirling in and out between them, darting hither and thither, exploring, seeking, cleaning every last droplet of my lightly salted cum from her pretty digits.
Beneath my mouth all is chaos; my tightly restrained chest heaving, my stomach muscles spasming, my legs shaking so badly that I’m certain that at any moment I’ll collapse into a damp, pulsating, orgasming heap on the floor because between my barely parted thighs wave after endless wave of pleasure crashes through the depths of my empty pussy.
I may have cum standing there sucking on her fingers; I don’t know. I may have been cumming constantly since she watched me slide my fingers deep into my wet pussy half an hour ago. Certainly, ever since my vaginal muscles haven’t stopped spasming as pulses of pleasure, like lightning bolts, zigzag their way throughout my sex and cum juice has flowed from between my legs like a water main with a burst faucet.
Her fingers exit my mouth leaving it empty, panting, dribbling and needy. Her arm circles my waist; pulls me into her, holds me upright as my legs collapse beneath me. Without that arm, without her hand tightly circling my wrist, I’d be little more than a giant, twitching pool of cum juice spreading across the bar’s cool tiled floor.
“I think we ought to go and find you that drink.”
So she leads me; left hand gripping my left wrist, her right arm encircling my narrow waist, her right palm burning into my quivering stomach as her saliva damp fingers teases their way along my panties line and stroke the gentle bulge that signals the start of my pubic mound.
She leads the way out of the bar and I wiggle along beside her, my legs weak, my footsteps uncertain, a fuzzy thumping clouding my head as we step once more into the sunshine and slowly wend our way back towards our sun loungers.
Human activity surrounds us; laughing children and agitated parents, the splash of bodies falling into choppy pool waters, the aroma of tobacco drifting in the air, conversations buzzing in my ears, sun cream and sweat invading my nostrils and the bright, merciless Mediterranean sun burning into my sunglasses protected eyes. I ignore them all; concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, on sliding one cum slick thigh across its partner as my soaking panties squelch between them and Anita’s pretty fingers tease my inflamed flesh with every step.
Eventually she comes to a halt before a pair of sun beds and I stutter to a stop at her side. Before us lies a man I half remember from a lifetime ago; he had a name, she’d told me his name, but somehow it has become lost in my lust befuddled mind. So I stand there; leaning into Anita, enjoying the feel of her soft, voluptuous body against my skin, loosing myself in the playful caresses of her fingers as they tease along my lower stomach and expecting at any minute to be dispatched back to my nearby sun lounger, where I will be able to lie back, shut my eyes and replay the mornings adventures.
Grant! That was his name. Well, Grant and Anita are having a conversation. I’m too busy enjoying Anita’s fluttering fingers and my post-orgasmic bliss to pay it much attention, but I’m sure that Anita asked Grant for the water which for some reason seemed to be a bit of a problem.
“Do you have the water?”
“The water?”
Yes, the water.”
“For her?”
Grant gestures in my direction and I give him my best, happy smile by way of reply.
“Yes, for her.”
Anita’s talking slowly, enunciating every word clearly, a far cry from the happy, endless torrent of words that tripped out of her mouth earlier.
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
She turns her head and smiles down at me. I’m not sure what I’ve done or why there is such a fuss about some water but I smile back and am just about to suggest finding a bar steward and mentioning that I’d really rather have a beer than some water when Grant butts in once again.
“Where did you find her?”
“Didn’t you see her, Grant? Sometimes you are so unobservant. She was lying on that sun lounger over there when we got here.”
“So?”
He’s inspecting me now; eyes traveling up and down my body. I sense a sneer of displeasure as he takes in my sternum dominated chest and tiny titties and I wriggle discomforted even as Anita’s fingers make soothing motions just above my groin. Their movement draws his eyes down until they come to rest on my swollen pussy, badly concealed beneath the drenched fabric of my too small panties. A leering smile plays around his mouth and, for the first time since I’d found sanctuary in the bar, I realise that my disgraceful, lust-crazed need is stained across my panties like a scarlet badge of shame.
My whole body; manicured fingertips to carefully painted toenails, unsplit hairends atop my head to my shaven, naked pussy, instantly glows crimson.
I decide that I’m not going to like Grant.
Virginia
- 25.07.2022
- 11
- 0
- Category:
- Masturbation
