Tramp Stamp Club: How It All Began

Jonathon reached the doorway behind Ellen and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure we should be out here? It is your father’s funeral after all.”
Ellen turned around to face him, “Don’t be ridiculous, Jonathon! One should never allow circumstances to delay entertainment.”
Jonathon considered for a moment, maybe the hippy revolution had hit Charleston’s most confined quarters after all. Free love was fine with him, he thought as he stepped into the cottage behind Ellen. She was releasing the macramé barrette that held her hair above the neckline of her straight black dress; lush deep brown curls fell to her waist. Jonathon was breathless as his black pants strained with the sight of the luscious creature in front of him. Ellen turned her back to him, lifting her hair with her hand. He accepted her challenge and stepped to her back, reaching for the zipper. As he pulled the zipper down her tanned back came into view ever so slightly. His other hand willed itself to her skin, feeling its soft texture, the silkiness of her ass. Like a horse drawn to water, Jonathon’s hands guided themselves to her body. They were relentless, and he couldn’t stop them.
Ellen felt the massive hands on her back. His hands were not those of a physical laborer; they were manicured, plush and long. Yes, long fingers that would surely reach inside her depths. They trailed across her skin masterfully, through the now open back of her dress and around to cup her heavy breasts. His hands were large enough to hold them; most of her lover’s hands didn’t come close to being able to fully encapsulate their fullness. Her nipples hardened with his touch. Her skin crawled with desire. Jonathon spread the back of her dress and slid it over her shoulders, allowing it to fall in a heap of linen onto the floor below. In a moment of oddity, Jonathon bent down to pick up her dress, her eyes following his curious move. He lifted the dress and held it by the shoulders carefully, searching the room for a suitable location in which to park it. Finding a long discarded chair in the corner, he gently propped the garment over its back. Ellen followed his every move with interest, her eyebrows lifted in question. When he turned back to face her, he noticed her interest. “Well, it’s linen; it will be a wrinkled mess if we leave it there!” he said.
Ellen couldn’t help but laugh. This was one unique man, she thought. She watched with even greater curiosity as he unbuttoned each of the tiny blue attachments on his Brooks Brother’s shirt. Curly blond hairs pierced through his broad chest. Without removing his shirt, simply leaving it open, he unleashed his belt and reached for his zipper.
“Here… let me help you with that!” Ellen rushed to assist.
Kneeling in front of him, she faced the zipper head on. With her fingers she slowly pulled the metal clasp down. In search of her face, his cock sprang from the enclosure like a beast having its cage door finally opened. Ellen met its gaze without fear. It was a bit longer than any she had before, but its girth was easily sustainable. Reaching her tongue from her mouth to test its flavor, she tickled the tip. The beast sprung to life with even more fury at her touch. The taste was acceptable to Ellen, her mouth opened to allow it entrance, her tongue reaching out to offer it welcome. She drew it into her mouth eagerly, wetting its length with her saliva as it aimed for her throat. Not so fast, she thought as she withdrew from its grip on her mouth. With hunger rising between her legs, she prepared this prick, running her wet tongue around its head down to the curly blond hairs at its base. Ellen felt the strong veins along the side of his dick with her tongue as though they were Braille writings, explaining the map of her future. The cock fought with desperation to find its way back into her plush mouth, but Ellen denied it entrance until its head began to weep with salty tears. When it began producing its own moisture to her satisfaction, she allowed it back into its desired location. It plunged into her mouth with a vengeance, and Jonathon’s hands on the top of her head guided Ellen back and forth on it, massaging its length. Her mouth full, Ellen used her hands to slide Jonathon’s black slacks down his legs, feeling the muscular thighs beneath her fingers, the waves of blond hairs heavily coating them. Her fingers barely touched his thighs and Ellen smiled noticing the shiver that physically ran up the nerves in his thighs. When his legs were free of cloth, she turned the bulk of her attention back to the monster in her mouth. Running her tongue in swirls around it she felt the first notion of its purpose, the beginnings of the slippery mixture spilt into her throat enticing her to draw more. Incensed by the taste, Ellen increased her pressure. The muscles in her face pulling Jonathon’s cock in and out of her mouth with growing suction. Her hands cupped his tight balls at its base and rolled them between her fingers. Jonathon’s hands were still on her head urging her to complete the transaction. As Ellen’s suction increased, his snake spat the first stream of its venom onto her tonsils. Ellen maneuvered her tongue to greet the next splash, and the final slow meandering remnants of Jonathon’s cum.