Mart 19, 2024

Honeyfold

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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Yes, I remember Honeyfold; the country station where I once sunbathed; the air heavy with the scents of blossom, field and farm, spiced with the lingering tang of the slow steam train I’d just missed. But I was content to bask in my summer dress for two hours till the next slow train. It was a God-given opportunity for a musician with thoughts enough to fill her mind.The music in my head resonated with the external world; sultry, languorous and somnolent. I closed my eyes and imagined the sun stimulating the scent of the printed violets on my dress as the warmth played over my body.I remember the chance moment when the express unexpectedly halted; the impetuous masculinity of its steam engine subdued, incongruous in the rural peace, as if the sultry silence had stilled the surge of smoke and the pulse of pistons, like a headstrong boy suddenly embarrassed in the society of elegant women. Over the dying hiss of steam the song birds echoed across the fields towards a horizon hidden in heat haze.The train stood. The guard leant his head out of the window, drank me with greedy eyes, but wouldn’t let me mount.”Not a scheduled stop. More than my job’s worth,” he grumbled, cross-faced but still not taking his eyes off me.The express stirred, arrogant in its arousal of steam and thrusting of coupling rods. I was left alone, with only the bird songs and my own thoughts.I relaxed back onto a long, comfortable bench, happy with the promise of a long sun-worship. My eyes closed, I savoured istanbul travesti the happy conjunction of scents, the feminine summer flowers, spiked with the lingering pungency of oil and steam.Half asleep I became intensely aware of my body, warmed by the ministrations of the sun, my loose cotton dress occasionally ruffled by a light breeze. I straightened out the dress, gently as though caressing myself. With a stroking movement I brought the hem of the dress up over my thighs, to feel the sun’s warmth as intimately as decency permitted. After all there was no one here, nor would be for at least an hour and a half.Perhaps it was the suggestion of masculinity that the train had aroused which so intensified my sensuous feelings. Lying in the sunshine on this solitary station bench was like sinking into a bath, pampered by warmth, enveloped in a melange of fragrances. Missing only was the luxury of a toy—my little pink rabbit. Secure in the solitude I drew my dress further, to allow the sun to warm where my rabbit would go. The memory of it inside me slowly made it impossible to resist clasping with my hand.This wouldn’t do—sensations were becoming unmanageable. To take my mind off them I reached out for the score I was learning, but the flood of feeling was already too full. The score meant nothing to me at all.This moment was too precious for score-reading.There was no-one to see me, except the sun. And the sun was telling me with insistent warmth that travesti istanbul my body was special. I undid the top of my dress, as though plucking the printed violets. The scent of the wild flowers was so strong in the air I might just as well have been. Languorously—nothing was quick in this heat—I obeyed the sun’s request to warm my breasts. The sun rewarded me. I didn’t need my fingers’ caress to know my nipples were rising to the warmth and the unaccustomed exposure. I offered each in turn, relishing the sun’s approval.My finger traced gentle patterns over them. Fortunately my long hair is dark, and I tan easily rather than burn. The skin between my breasts is soft and I enjoyed the whisper of my fingers over it, around each breast, and up to my collar bone. I desperately strove to keep my hands from straying down towards the flagrant self-pleasuring that my body was beginning to crave.But there was surely no harm in loosening the rest of my dress—for the sake of coolness. I let the violets flutter to the ground, leaving only my panties’ protection should anybody appear.But it didn’t cool me. The sun watched, and warmed me. My senses followed, hot beneath my one piece of thin underwear. Too moist now to comfortably keep it on. The panties had to go.Immediately the sun’s warmth poured over my vulva. The wetness in my vagina responded. I opened my thighs, maximising the exposure of my pussy to this heavenly heat. Like there was nothing between the sun’s fire, istanbul travestileri and my own intimate sex. I don’t need my rabbit, I thought, as the living heat penetrated me. I still longed to plunge my hand into my depth, seeking out my magic place. But for the moment I just let the sun do its miraculous work. I closed my eyes, living for the spells the heat was weaving between my thighs. I opened them wider. Wow, if a man—or even another woman—could gaze on me with a warmth like that… Maybe they would—maybe one day…?I dozed, naked and safe on this remote railway station. Hardly caring now if anyone should approach. My thoughts dreamt of a man, strong but elegant, muscular but gentle, desirous to penetrate where the sun was penetrating—eager but not greedy. Unable to resist me, but chivalrous in holding back. Waiting till I was ready to show his cock where to go.I turned over and continued my daydreams while the sun massaged my ass. If a man should appreciate me as much as this summer day was doing, I would be satisfied for life. I thought of the firm, but claspable ass my dream man would have. Perhaps he would let me clasp it as we walked together down the street, declaring my possession of him. It was no good. I could no longer lie passive. I turned on my back. Slowly, with exquisite anticipation I yielded my self to the first movement of my hand, down my tummy, into the opening of my lips. I longed to thrust straightaway deep into the vagina—to still and yet excite, to soothe and to stimulate.But savouring every sensation I sank slowly, appreciating the transforming effect of the juices the sunlight had drawn out. Fingers discovered lips swollen with love; love of the summer, of what the sun was doing, of their own responses.

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