She moved with it, impaled upon him…

5 min read

The rocking chair squeaked rhythmically on the floor as she moved with it, impaled upon him and his long, hard cock. With each forward rock he slid more and more deeply into her, easing his way ever more gently, giving her time and space to work with him.

She held her breasts cupped in her soft hands, and swayed with the motion, staring penetratingly into his eyes. He returned the favor, placing his hands on what to him were her perfectly rounded hips, and met her eyes with deep love and adoration.

The balancing act between the two lovers stretched them both. They were both physically fit and this delirious exercise was thrilling them. Breath was becoming more and more staggered and unsteady as each lost theirs to the other and the deep sensations running up and down their spines. Kundalini was awakening. The electricity of their passion was igniting their senses. Each gave to the other what feeling and love they received and the current became stronger, more focused and delightfully powerful.

She had come to him in tears earlier. Life was being a bitch and her frustration was in need of a reset. His eyes cuddled her with calm assurance and he beckoned her to the rocking chair he loved to find serenity on.

“Come here my little kitten, and curl up with your man. I’ve got you, angel.”

She bent herself to the contours of his body on the chair and made her body fit snugly into his. She so loved how they fit together, in and out of bed. He had such a grounding effect on her and she him. But today it was her turn, and it was OK. They were just those kind of lovers and friends. Comfort and tenderness were the foundations they built their love upon.

Running fingers through her hair, she relaxed into him and soon forgot that which was earlier. Over his slacks she began to rub his cock through the material and make it bulge and arise. His rocking continued and did not miss a beat. She grinned, enjoying the magic of the throbbing gorging elongation of his member. What a thing to witness, the coming alive of passion as life force moved into her hands, stroking that delectable man thang she craved, loved and adored. Her sex became more and more wet with each stroke and caress.

With delicate feminine dexterity she removed his growing serpent from its prison to set him free and release her pulsating pussy from its deep need. It felt as if the cock in its mad desire would tear the material of his boxers to be in her hand. It had its own mind and mission and needs. It must be free, it must be in she. It must fill her, it must splay her wide open and have possession of her. It must bear witness to her surrender and submission. It must serve her and become the taken. It must move and sway between breath and death. It must give of itself and it must take her whole, raw and alive.

With eyes locked, she held his cock fast in her fist and adjusted her body to kiss him and breath him in. It pulsated raw male life chi in her hand. And she began to pump it with each stroke, continuing to make her flower more and more, ready for the man’s pollination. He was so aroused by this goddess and her way, her curves, the sound of her voice softly, slowly, whispering, “fuck me baby,” in his ear. It was divine bliss as the rocking chair and their entwined bodies swayed.

He released her breasts from their captivity and suckled and drank her energy through her nipples. Arching her back with cock still in hand she reveled in the abandon, pressing herself into his face and his attentions. Her nipples were raw and tender and such a sweet conduit to pleasure in a direct line to her most holy of holies. Her pussy was building to a blinding, searing burst. She came and he moved his face to her lips, kissing her hard.

“Mmmmmmm, that’s my girl,” he said, pulling her long black hair back from her face, from the flailing and thrashing.

“Oh my love, more. I want more,” she pleaded of him.

“My baby wants, my baby gets.”

After peeling the rest of their clothing off she climbed back aboard her man and his member at full attention; then, easing down on its hardness, squirming gently this way and that, engulfed him. Making herself perfectly snug where home was. Where sweet, delightful, wanton bliss was, on top of his fucking beautiful cock.

And the rocking chair squeaked away its rhythm.

Then she moved her hands to his chest, palms flat, and rode him. Rode the rhythm of the chair moving back and forth and forth and back. All of him up inside her now as gravity, wetness and warm body heat worked in unison between the two lovers.

He placed his hands on the small of her back and pressed to support her ride, to entwine his male serpent with hers, up her chakras and light up her energy centers. Male and female electrical current flowed up and further up with each rock of the chair.

The ebb and flow of penetration continued releasing and moving tender, beautiful chi between them. Making alight their bodies, minds and souls.

Blood rushed and flowed in their bodies, cleansing their organs, muscles and bones. Profound and deep sexual healing. Incredible wordless energy moved overwhelmingly between the two in a drowning of the most beautiful of sorts. And she died the little death again on his cock.

He pulled her hair as she came and ate her neck with kisses and tongue caresses. He adored her so, pleasuring her was his goal, his reason for living, for being here. What else mattered in this moment, not a damned thing. The world could vanish and they wouldn’t have a clue, they were so entangled in one another. So at one with the other that where she ended and he began or he ended and she began was nebulous at best and neither cared. That lover’s thing, wordlessly known. Etched like her fingernail marks on his back as he plunged deeper into her.

And the rocking chair continued as if it too had its own mission, to carry the lovers to new heights. And why wouldn’t it? Made of wood and tender loving care, curved and form fitting, designed for love and sway.

Divine union, sweat and moaning and deep breathing and scent and perfume and cologne. Fingers running over form and beauty. Deep unison. She recovered her balance with his strong male hands on her, and her release. She so appreciated his knowing, his power of connection with her.

It was all about her and she rewarded him by grinding down hard on his full mast. Pushing her chest out, breasts in full glory, back arched. Giving him a full view of her body in all its wonder and puuurfection. She knew he was a visual creature, as a lot of men are. She knew she had him under her spell and the power of that was intoxicating.

It would not be long now she knew, the twitching of that delightful serpent within was signaling his need to cum inside her.

“Go ahead baby, we can wipe it up after, I don’t give a fuck, pump that fucking delicious thang inside me, sweet man.”

And the rocking chair picked up its pace and he made a mental note to self, another honey do project fosho, fix that fucking squeaking! She took his face in her hands and she fucked him hard. Pushing herself down on him and pulling up, clenching her love muscles tight to his pleasure.

The heat built, the friction built, reaching to nirvana, heaven, Shangri-La, all those places of the gods and goddesses, and he shot streams of hot cum deep up inside her as she fully impaled him within her. All of it, as far as it could go. Thus setting off her reaction of same and they held each other tight, cumming together. Shivering electrical current with the full knowing had it been night they would have seen the tiny sparks.

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