His shoulders

Evening lamp, teal top, white coat on the hook where it cannot supervise anything. The oil is on the side table and I am recording this after, because my hands still smell like it. Samir sat on the floor between my knees. Forty-four. He had carried a long day in his shoulders and I wanted them under my palms before I wanted anything for myself. I said let me. He said please. I warmed the oil and worked the muscle until he groaned in a way that was not sexual and then, gradually, was. I kissed the top of his spine and asked if the massage could turn. He said only if you want it too. I said I want it. I want to fuck.

I slipped a hand down his chest, under his waistband, and stroked his cock slow while my other hand stayed on his shoulder so he would feel cared for and wanted at once. He leaned back into me. I said tell me if you want my mouth. He said yes, please. I came around, knelt, and took his cock in, one hand still oiled, pace mine. He touched my hair and said I was beautiful and that I did not have to finish him that way. I said I know. I want your cock in my mouth, and then I want you on the bed.

We moved. He laid me down and returned the massage on my cunt until I was squirming, then put his cock into my cunt when I nodded and said now. He fucked me deep and unhurried, his mouth on my collarbone, my heels at his back. I came with a sound I did not bother to hide, my cunt gripping his cock. He asked, close, and I said cum in my cunt, I want the weight of you after. He finished and stayed on his elbows so he would not crush me, then shifted beside me and pulled the sheet up. Water. Towel. His hand on my stomach until I stopped trembling. I told him his shoulders would get another turn tomorrow. He said my whole body could have the same. I am keeping him to that.