I remained motionless for a moment, my hands resting on the inside of his thighs, feeling the heat of his taut, almost trembling muscles beneath my palms. His torso rose and fell in fits and starts, his irregular breathing betraying the effort he was making to stay still. No words escaped his lips, but his eyes, shining in the dim light, fixed on me with an intensity that spoke volumes. I gazed at his erect penis, veins bulging, glistening glans, and lower down, at the slightly darker, wrinkled skin where my tongue had traced precise circles, like an intimate signature. There was something almost solemn about the image. His young body, both powerful and vulnerable, seemed suspended in expectation. His hands, still gripping the sheet, relaxed slightly, as if he understood that this pause was part of the game. I let my gaze slide from his pectorals, marked by my kisses, to his testicles, pressed against the base of his erection, then to that circular scar. I touched nothing more. I simply observed him, fascinated by this vision of a man open, offered, where every detail—the sweat on his skin, the trembling of his thighs, the glint of impatience in his eyes—seemed to crystallize everything that bound us. Time stretched, and in that silence, there was only him, in that posture of surrender, and me, on my knees, captivated by the raw beauty of the moment. Then, slowly, I placed a hand on his stomach, feeling beneath my fingers the rapid beating of his heart, as if to remind him that I was still there, master of the rhythm. I finally leaned towards him, drawn by this silent offer, this absolute trust emanating from his open, taut body. My fingers, first resting on the inside of his thighs, slowly moved up towards his hips, grasping them with a firm but measured pressure. I felt his muscles contract beneath my embrace, as if he were suppressing an instinctive movement. My hand settled firmly on my shaft, stiff and burning, guiding it precisely towards him. The heat radiating from his body unsettled me, a living, almost electric moisture that seemed to draw me in like a magnet. I approached slowly, the already moist head barely touching his entrance, as if testing his receptiveness. I traced tiny, almost hesitant circles, feeling beneath my fingertips the tension in his muscles responding to this contact.He held his breath, and his fingers tightened further. His hips shifted involuntarily, as if his body, despite itself, was already seeking to welcome me. Each touch seemed to trigger a chain reaction, his muscles contracting in waves, as if he were struggling to maintain control. Yet, his body spoke for him, offering itself in spasms, like a silent invitation to cross the threshold. My hand guided my erect and burning penis toward his entrance. I began to penetrate with measured slowness, millimeter by millimeter, feeling the initial resistance of his muscles beneath the head, which gradually gave way. His body, at first slightly tense, began to relax, opening as if to welcome me, as if adjusting to my presence with almost instinctive precision. The sensation was intense, almost dizzying: that humid, enveloping heat, that firm, steady pressure surrounding me, as if every fiber of her being were closing around me with a restrained eagerness. I sank deeper, still with the same slowness, observing every reaction on her face. Her features tightened slightly, her lips parted in a short, ragged breath. Her half-closed eyes remained fixed on me, betraying a mixture of pleasure and tension, as if she were trying to control every sensation. Her legs stiffened further, her heels digging deeper into the mattress, as if to anchor herself in the moment, to let nothing escape this connection that bound us. Every movement was calculated, every pressure measured, as if to prolong this moment when our bodies were one. I withdrew with measured slowness, creating an almost imperceptible space between us, as if to suspend the moment. Then, I moved into him again, with calculated precision, each movement slow and deliberate, as if to etch the exact memory of that embrace into our flesh. His hips, after a barely perceptible pause, responded to mine, effortlessly rediscovering the rhythm of a bodily dialogue we had, over the years, brought to a form of silent perfection. Our bodies, like two parts of the same mechanism, adjusted naturally, rediscovering that ancient harmony where each thrust, each withdrawal, was both a confirmation and a renewed exploration. Each gesture seemed to carry with it the weight of shared memories, that familiarity which, far from diminishing the intensity, made it deeper, more authentic. It was as if our bodies, despite the passage of time, still knew exactly how to respond to each other, how to embrace, as if they had kept within them the indelible trace of those past moments.I felt his inner muscles contract around me, first in fits and starts, then with a regularity that betrayed his gradual approach. His thighs, still raised, framed my hips, and I perceived the exact moment he stopped holding his breath and let himself be carried away by the movement. His heels sank even deeper into the mattress, no longer to resist, but to anchor themselves, as if he wanted to prolong each sensation. My hands, firm but measured, guided his hips in a slow and precise movement, as if to seal each moment of this embrace. Without my needing to ask, he spread his legs wider and placed them on my shoulders, offering himself more deeply, as if inviting me to possess him completely. This new position allowed me to penetrate him with a different depth, each thrust becoming deeper, more captivating. Our breaths synchronized, our skin pressed together, and in that measured sway, I felt the precise moment when our two bodies became one. From time to time, I paused to lean towards him, kissing him eagerly, nibbling at his hardened nipples, or licking his curly armpits, still damp and fragrant with that musky perspiration that reminded me of certain scorching nights. Each time I thrust into him, I felt my foreskin unroll and then retract around my glans, an almost electric sensation mingling with the dampness of his body. When I reached the depths of him, a gentle but intense pressure enveloped my glans, as if his entire body were closing around me, drawing me in even deeper. Her eyes would open then, as if searching for mine, and in that gaze, I read a complicity that transcended words, a silent confirmation of everything we shared without ever needing to say it. The bed creaked beneath our movements, but the sound was drowned out by our breaths, growing faster and faster, more and more synchronized. The ceiling fan, still running, blew on our damp skin, fanning the rising heat between us, like a gentle breeze on an already blazing fire. Each thrust was a promise, each movement an affirmation of the carnal complicity that bound us far beyond words.During my brief pauses, when I would still up, just long enough for a kiss or a caress on his chest, my fingers would naturally slide towards his penis. I could feel it hard, taut, almost throbbing beneath my palm, as if it were waiting for this contact with restrained impatience. I began by lightly touching the base of his shaft, tracing slow circles with my thumb, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles beneath my fingers. Then, I moved up gently, squeezing his member with measured pressure, enough to make him shiver, but without rushing. His glans, still glistening with moisture, responded to each touch, as if seeking to offer itself more fully. I felt his hips lift imperceptibly, as if to meet my hand, but I maintaine ...

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