Amsterdam Nights, Sweet Sin

The rain in Amsterdam was relentless, a persistent drizzle that clung to everything and painted the cobblestone streets in a shimmering gray. But inside the boutique hotel, nestled along a quiet canal, the atmosphere was anything but gloomy. We had only been in the Netherlands for two nights, a quick escape from the relentless demands of our lives, but the effect was immediate and profound. It felt like a stolen moment, a brief, incandescent flare against the backdrop of our everyday existence. And, yes, we got amorous in Amsterdam both nights. It wasn’t just a trip; it was a rediscovery, a reconnection to a part of ourselves we’d almost forgotten existed.

The first evening began with a leisurely exploration of the city. We wandered through the narrow, winding streets, the scent of tulips and freshly baked stroopwafels mingling in the air. We took a canal tour, gliding silently past historic buildings and charming houseboats, the reflections of the city lights dancing on the water. Dinner was at a restaurant with a view, all dark wood and candlelight, the clinking of glasses and hushed conversations creating a sophisticated hum. Our granddaughter, Lily, was utterly exhausted by the day’s adventures and promptly retreated to her room, leaving us to our own devices.

As I watched her drift off to sleep, my husband, Richard, leaned in close, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He wore a tailored linen shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin. The scent of his aftershave, a blend of sandalwood and citrus, filled the air. "Remember when we were young and we flew around Europe, cumming here and there?" he asked, his voice low and husky. It wasn’t a boast, but a memory, a shared secret, a reminder of a time when life felt limitless and our desires were unburdened.

I giggled, a high-pitched, innocent sound that belied the simmering heat beneath my skin. "How could I not? You couldn't resist me doing those exercises in my lingerie," I retorted, pulling myself closer to him. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a delicious anticipation building within me. It had been a long time since we'd let ourselves indulge in such playful flirtation.

We embraced, the familiar warmth of his body a comforting weight against mine. The kiss was tentative at first, a slow exploration of lips and breath, before escalating into something deeper, more urgent. As I waited for him to come to bed, I retrieved the old photo album we’d brought, its pages brittle and faded. Flipping through the images, we reminisced about past adventures, past transgressions, past moments of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Then I saw it: a picture of me, back in 1987, wearing a stunning, emerald green silk gown, a single strand of pearls adorning my neck. I was posing for a magazine spread, confident, sensual, utterly captivating. Richard’s eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Ooh la la, Mrs. Bond!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with admiration. He traced the outline of my figure in the photo, lost in the memory of that night. We talked about it for a while, reliving the experience in excruciating detail, each word fueling the flames of our desire.

Richard moved his hands up to my breasts, a slow, deliberate caress that sent a jolt of electricity through my body. I arched into his touch, my breath catching in my throat. The scent of his skin, a mixture of sweat and musk, was intoxicating. He pulled down my silk robe, revealing the lingerie I had chosen for the evening. It was a white 50s-style corset bra with red polka dots, frilly straps, and a delicate red silk bow between the cups. Matching red panties completed the ensemble, clinging to my hips and accentuating my curves. The sight of it sent a wave of heat washing over me.

“So sexy…” Richard murmured, his voice husky with lust. He gently took my hand, running his thumb across my knuckles. He examined my body with a critical yet loving gaze, appreciating every curve and contour. Then, he began to unfasten the corset, his fingers moving with practiced ease. The silky material slid off my body, revealing the pale skin beneath. As he continued to caress me, his touch ignited a fire within me.

He removed my panties, letting them fall to the bed like a discarded garment. I lay back against the plush pillows, my legs splayed open, offering him complete access. Richard took off his shirt, the fabric pooling around his muscular frame. He climbed onto the bed beside me, pulling me close in his arms. Our bodies pressed together, a silent acknowledgment of our mutual desire.

As he took me in his arms, I leaned into his embrace, my heart pounding in my chest. The scent of his cologne intensified, swirling around us like a heady perfume. He began to kiss me, his lips tracing the curve of my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. Each touch was deliberate, passionate, designed to ignite my senses. My nipples began to tingle, growing hard as he toyed with them.

His gentle, tender caresses were making me very wet. As he continued to explore my body, my arousal intensified, my breathing becoming shallow and rapid. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the pleasure of the moment. My husband moved his hands up to my breasts in one of his classic cheeky moves, and I loved it.

The anticipation mounted as he unwrapped my dress from my body, revealing the delicate lace of my lingerie. It felt like a slow burn, building to an explosive crescendo. Richard's gaze locked onto me, his eyes filled with lust and longing. Then, he took off his boxers, revealing his hard cock, a testament to his virility.

My sweet, sexy husband climbed over me and entered my soaking wet ladyplace. We kissed for a while and caressed each other’s bodies while his penis enjoyed soaking in the warm nectars of my lady flower. My husband kissed his way down my neck and onto my collarbone. He kissed my breasts and played with my nipples with his tongue.

Him playing with my breasts always causes me to get the orgasmic tingles, especially when he’s doing figure-eights inside my vagina! He kept caressing my breasts with his hand while he kissed me passionately. I ran my fingers through his hair, and then his thrusts intensified!

I rubbed his back while he thrust and throbbed inside of me, and it wasn’t long before I orgasmed intensely. I let out moans of pleasure as I tensed up and clutched him tight. My sweet darling husband clutched me back, as I listened to him moan, sensing he was close to climaxing. I felt his thrusts intensify in my vagina before he came in shockwaves himself, jerking hard inside of me.

We were slightly sweaty as we came down. My darling husband kissed my neck multiple times and caressed my face. Then he rolled me on top of him, and I cupped his face as we kissed one more time before resting my head on his chest.

It felt so beautiful to lie in the afterglow with our arms wrapped around each other while he stroked me. The rain continued to fall outside, but inside, in the sanctuary of our hotel room, we had found something far more profound – a rekindled flame, a passionate connection that transcended time and circumstance. It was a stolen moment, a perfect storm of lust, desire, and shared intimacy, a memory that would linger long after we left the Netherlands behind.

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