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He smiled, licked his lips and looked back down at my breasts. His face had its own kind of slightly-childish, naughty delight as his hand reached in to caress the curves and valley of my breasts - sending ripples of mini-orgasm through them and down to my soaking pussy.I thrust my hips and spread my legs, remembering the instincts I had even as a girl.John saw it. His hand slid down toward my waist, then past it and onto my cotton-covered thigh, bypassing the part of me that most wanted to be touched. His hand wasn't ready to venture inside quite yet.My legs spread further, hoping that his hand would fall between them. Instead, it stayed atop my thigh, but mercifully it soon found its own way to the damp area that covered my dark triangle. The fabric was smooth and snug, letting me feel every bit of texture as he approached.I came again, this time with a couple of full-body quakes. My pussy reached up to press into his hand as it arrived. I moaned - somehow with my little-girl voice. With each stroke, he seemed to relax yet become more anxious like a soldier charging confidently into battle. He looked like a beautiful sculpture. He looked like, like, like the one in my art book...what was it called? Sleeping man, sleeping God… no sleeping satyr… a male nature spirit and as I recall they have permanent, exaggerated erections. This was fitting. He was the sleeping satyr statue with his head leaning back, eyes tightly closed, face relaxed, and legs spread open. As his leg muscles tightened, his beautiful penis rose up in the twilight. I was in awe.With his cock angled toward his upper body and his fingers rolling at the tip of his cock, he pressed hard and made one final downward stroke. His skin pulled tight, and a stream of cum shot upward and arched onto his stomach, followed by another and yet another. I nearly fainted with excitement for him. His left hand loosened its grip on his thigh, his eyes closed and his head settled back onto the chair. He pressed.
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