Ron & Anne's Forever Engagement

The weight of the engagement ring felt heavy on my finger, a constant, glittering reminder of the life about to begin. The professor droned on about eighteenth-century literature, but my attention was entirely elsewhere, consumed by the upcoming months, the shared dreams, and the undeniable pull between Ron and me. His parents, staunchly traditional Christians, had initially balked at the idea of postponing his degree to accommodate our engagement, but seeing the genuine, unyielding love in our eyes, they’d relented. Another year of waiting felt impossible, a cruel extension of our already intense connection.

As I packed up my books after class, I noticed the envious glances cast at my ring. It was a small, selfish satisfaction, knowing that Ron was worth the attention. Back at his apartment, a fresh pile of laundry lay neatly folded on his bed – a silent promise of our future, of shared sheets and whispered secrets. I picked up a pair of his Jockey shorts, the cotton soft against my skin. Folding them felt strangely intimate, a private ritual between us. The memory of my brother's laundry was distant, this felt different, charged with anticipation. When the key turned in the lock, I quickly tucked the shorts back into the pile, a blush creeping up my neck.

Ron walked into the bedroom, his presence immediately filling the space. He took my hands, pulling me onto the bed to bury his face in my hair. His kiss was slow, deliberate, a clear declaration of his love. I returned it with equal fervor, letting my body relax into his embrace. It wasn’t the first time we’d experienced this connection, not by a long shot. Since the moment we met last fall, the pull between us had been undeniable, growing stronger with each passing day.

As he leaned in, my body responded instinctively, my breasts pressing against his chest, my pussy seeking the burgeoning bulge in his trousers. The sensation was exquisite, a delicious torture of wanting and restraint. It was a power play, a silent conversation conducted through touch and breath. I reveled in the effect I had on him, the way he responded to my touch, the way his muscles tensed beneath my hand.

He excused himself to clean up, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the intoxicating scent of his aftershave. The shower called to me, a chance to cleanse myself, both physically and mentally. I left the bathroom door slightly ajar, knowing he wouldn’t look, but also knowing that the possibility of his gaze was a powerful turn-on. The old shower head, a relic from a bygone era, delivered a forceful, single stream of water. As I moved back and forth, relishing the sensation, the water found its way to a particularly sensitive spot, a constant, insistent pressure against my clitoris. Images of Ron naked in the shower flashed through my mind, each one a spark igniting further desire. The warmth of the water, the relentless stimulation, built a crescendo within me.

Suddenly, the door swung open, Ron peering in through the shower curtain. “How much longer are you going to be?” he asked, his voice hesitant, almost apologetic. Without thinking, I pulled the curtain aside just enough to expose a sliver of my breast, a playful invitation to his gaze. A smile stretched across my face, a silent acknowledgment of his desire. He quickly closed the door, the slam echoing in the sudden silence. I couldn't be sure if it was my imagination, but I sensed a pang of regret in his movements, a fleeting hesitation before he retreated.

The exposure didn’t diminish my arousal, quite the opposite. I stepped back into the shower stream, letting the water continue its assault on my clitoris. This time, I simply stood there, gently moving back and forth, allowing the pressure to build and swell. The minutes stretched on, each second an eternity as my body prepared for the inevitable. The water intensified, becoming more insistent, more demanding. The feeling was overwhelming, primal, pushing me closer and closer to the brink.

Then, it happened. A wave of pleasure surged through me, a volcanic eruption of sensation. I instinctively grabbed the soap dish, bracing myself against the force of the orgasm, the world blurring around the edges as my body convulsed in rhythmic pulses. The sensation was so intense, so overwhelming, that it left me breathless and weak, clinging to the soap dish for support. The room spun, the colors intensified, and the pleasure peaked, reaching its zenith before slowly receding.

As I finally regained my composure, catching my breath and savoring the lingering afterglow, another knock sounded at the door. This time, I didn't bother to close the door, allowing the space to remain open and vulnerable. “Are you coming?” Ron called out, his voice laced with anticipation. "Right now," I responded, my voice breathless, my body still tingling with the afterglow. A genuine smile spread across my face; I had already cum, the culmination of months of pent-up desire and anticipation. The weight of the engagement ring felt lighter now, replaced by the lightness of release, the promise of a future filled with even more pleasure and passion. The world felt vibrant, alive, and brimming with possibility, all thanks to the man in front of me, the man I was about to marry. The scent of his aftershave mingled with the lingering scent of soap, creating a heady blend that sealed our connection, solidifying the foundation of our love and promising a lifetime of shared intimacy. The future stretched before us, a tantalizing tapestry woven with lust, desire, and the exquisite joy of being completely, utterly consumed by each other.

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