He smiled. He pulled me closer. I could smell him– men’s cologne and desire. I kissed him deeply and traced my tongue from his shoulders down to his belt. His tight jeans and boxers were no match for my lips. He moaned as I licked his growing erection until it was fully alive. Then I gently sucked Lincoln until sunrise.
Browsing: #Lincoln
He was sixty-five when I first tasted his dark blessing; an aged prize of pleasure, wrapped in a mottled, scarred cloth of sinew and muscle. I wanted nothing more than to swallow his salty offering, his richness serving as a bittersweet reminder of intimacy and forbidden beauty.
The man had a salty musk that clung to the insides of Lincoln’s throat like cream. He licked eagerly, hungrily, letting his tongue tireless weave between the man’s thighs as he thrust harder, faster, skin slapping against skin as he rode to the sound of the moonlit sky. An orgasmic explosion as they both let out a guttural cry, and a connection that lasted until the moon died.
He was a rugged, brooding figure in the dead of night. He commanded my attention with a seductive grin and a glint in his eye. We kissed languidly, exploring each other’s bodies until my own crescendo of pleasure shattered the darkness. It was a night of boundless passion; a night shared between two ravenous lovers with no sign of the morning.
He had been in Lincoln before and he had a feeling that he’d be back again soon. The hard on he’d been carrying for days now wouldn’t let up — he could feel it pulse deep, a wanting, a craving. It just wanted to dive into the deepest of rivers and never come out. Never let up, never stop. No wonder it was called Lincoln’s Hard On.