She wasn't a small girl, but I took hold of her and carried her to the kitchen table. As soon as she was sitting on the table I started kissing her. Her mouth, earlobes, neck and finally breasts. At the same time I opened my jeans and as soon as I got them down to my ankles I stepped out of them. Only after that, did I allow my hands to start to tease her under her skirt. Somehow it did not surprise me to find out that she was not wearing pantyhose but stay ups. Yet I still avoided her pussy region. I might have been horny as hell but it did not mean that I wasn't able to control myself.I made sure that I did not enter her until she was begging me to. But once I did I did it with one powerful push. A mistake. I almost lost control right there. Luckily, only almost. After that I had to keep it slow for a moment. Once she'd had her first real orgasm, I let it go, and she came again as I lost it, spurting spurt after spurt after spurt inside her. Her eyes grew big from the power of my. Or Sully, Louis XIII. or Richelieu--for two of these arm-chairs, adorned with a carved shield, on which were engraved the fleur-de-lis of France on an azure field evidently came from the Louvre, or, at least, some royal residence. Over these dark and sombre chairs were thrown splendid stuffs, dyed beneath Persia's sun, or woven by the fingers of the women of Calcutta or of Chandernagor. What these stuffs did there, it was impossible to say; they awaited, while gratifying the eyes, a destination unknown to their owner himself; in the meantime they filled the place with their golden and silky reflections. In the centre of the room was a Roller and Blanchet "baby grand" piano in rosewood, but holding the potentialities of an orchestra in its narrow and sonorous cavity, and groaning beneath the weight of the chefs-d'oeuvre of Beethoven, Weber, Mozart, Haydn, Gretry, and Porpora. On the walls, over the doors, on the ceiling, were swords, daggers, Malay creeses, maces, battle-axes; gilded,.
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