It was a lazy Friday afternoon. The sun was slowly setting and shades of twilight began to creep across the sky. In the dreamy state between sleep and awareness, I dozed on the porch glider. The sun-warmed wood was smooth and soft beneath us.
We were bathed in the soft glow of the dwindling sun. I sat on his lap as we slowly rocked back and forth on a porch glider. I remember resting my head lightly against his shoulder, dozing. He shifted, almost imperceptibly, and I felt his hands move from their former position where he had clasped them about my waist to move underneath my shirt. He slowly ran his fingers up my torso, from my soft and trembling belly, on and up until the calloused fingers of his left hand teased the undersides of my breasts.
His right hand was just as busy, moving beneath the flimsy barrier of my skirt to trace circular patterns on the sensitive skin just above the triangle of jet-black curls separated from his questing fingers by only a thin scrap of silk and lace.
By this time, I let out a soft whimper in anticipation of his fingers inside me, but he merely chuckled and continued to tease me, sliding his hands over my thighs instead, still tracing that circular pattern with his fingers.
I could feel the hard length of him beneath me, attesting to the fact that he was not immune to his own teasing. I squirmed on his lap, wanting to reach between us and rub that lovely cock of his, but, guessing at my intentions, he circled my wrists with his hands and drew my hands up and over to clutch at his neck as he bent his head and began to kiss a path from my shoulder to my ear, unbuttoning my shirt at the same time.
