Preggo german slut with bush

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Preggo german slut with bush.  Sam leaned down and kissed the hell out of me for a moment. Animal instinct pushed my hips up. My thighs lodged between hers but my penis poked her belly. She pulled back from kissing and moved her hips down toward mine, still leaning over me.

Her pussy made contact with me then, like upside-down hot dog assembly. A little off-center, she corrected her angle and drove to one side to make better contact.

The first time I saw one of those “CAUTION WET FLOOR” signs I thought they were so stupid. A wet floor wasn’t dangerous. Yeah, no, now I got it. Her pussy was the slipperiest goddamn thing since slapstick banana peels. Speaking of bananas…

“Are you ready?” she asked, smiling, breathing kinda heavily, and with all sincerity.

I answered by fucking her. Trying to. I missed. Twice. Just probed in where I thought was right but slid all the way up to her clit instead. She got the message, though, and took matters and my penis into her own hands. Grabbed my dick, put it weirdly far back, and pushed down and back onto it.

She looked triumphant, like this was a long time coming. I fucked up into her as she rocked her hips back and forward. Our rhythms didn’t match, and it was kind of exquisite that way. Y’know that annoying feeling when your turn signal doesn’t match the car in front of you? It was like the opposite of that. The sensations were more chaotic, more surprising.

Disaster struck. As she hit the peak of one cycle, I hit the bottom of mine, and my penis slipped out.

She laughed, honestly amused, reinserted my dick, and kept on going. This time, I moved more carefully. Sam, though, had a different plan. She rode me harder, pushing down and back harder, farther, and more precisely than I’d ever thought a pair of hips could move. His dick can’t slip out if you keep it buried all the way in, y’know?

I just laid there in the dirt and grass, getting pounded like a grapefruit juicer. …a poorly made one. It hurt. She hurt my dick–at the base, where it disappears into the body. Or emerges from it. It felt like she’d tear the damn thing off on one of her backstrokes sooner or later.

“Sam, Sam, stop! Stop! You’re hurting me!”

She wound down and came to a stop, our genitals still engaged.

“Ooooh. Sorry.” she answered, sounding about sixty percent more guilty than she should have been. A lifetime of being needlessly shamed and guilted had made her too good and too fast at feeling guilty.

“Nooo, it’s okaayy.” I tried to soothe her. “I mean, it’s not okay,” I corrected. “You’re not allowed to hurt me. And I’m not allowed to hurt you.” I lifted my hands up to her sides and stoked them.

“Could you come here?” I requested. She leaned in closer to my face, and I gave her a kiss and flexed my dick. She was sweaty, a little red, and her hair had grouped into little tribes of parallel strands. “Let’s keep going,” I told her and I ground upward into her as my hands found her hips.

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