Somehow, the clothes never quite made it to the linen basket until she picked them up. Jean returned to the relative sanctuary of the kitchen and her tea cooling on the breakfast bar. Porn sex Frank lay beside her on the bed, crooking her head on his elbow, running his free hand over her breasts, marvelling at the hardness of her nipples and the smoothness of her alabaster like skin. She dried and then dressed slowly, touching herself as she did so, relishing the delicious thrill of the memory of what she and Frank had done. It was an easy rhythm, comfortable, something they could both keep up without it bringing them too close to orgasm. Slowly, he worked it building into a regular rhythm that allowed her to calm, before taking her to another, but different orgasm. After nearly twenty years married, his jokes all sounded the same, worn and dated, same as their conversation, their sex life and pretty much everything else. Frank woke as Jean emerged from the bathroom. Lived in a small village in Buckinghamshire, loved dogs and kept a horse, but didn’t ride. Judging the time to be right, Jean bent at the waist and licked the pre-come from his slit. It was an intense feeling and made him gasp softly.
