Ron's Restless Dreamer

The humid summer air hung heavy in the backyard as I stepped through the weathered screen door, the familiar scent of honeysuckle and freshly turned earth clinging to the air. My eyes immediately found her, nestled deep within the woven embrace of the hammock, a picture of serene tranquility. Anne. My Anne. The sight of her, bathed in the golden light filtering through the leaves of the ancient oak tree, sent a familiar tremor through my body, a primal recognition of the profound connection we shared. She was wearing one of my older, oversized white dress shirts, the sleeves rolled up, revealing glimpses of her tanned arms, and a short, flowy wrap-around skirt she favored when tending her beloved garden. The hem of the skirt, riding high above her hips, showcased the creamy white nylon of her underwear, a small, tantalizing invitation that I couldn’t resist. It was a casual, comfortable arrangement, yet it held an undeniable allure, a silent promise of pleasure waiting to be unleashed.

I moved slowly, deliberately, across the wooden bridge, savoring the moment, the anticipation building within me. Each step brought me closer to her, to the warmth radiating from her body, to the intoxicating scent of her skin. I stopped just beside the hammock, my gaze locked on her peaceful face, her long, wavy brown hair cascading down her back, a few strands of silver woven throughout, a testament to the years we'd spent together. It didn't diminish her beauty; rather, it added a layer of depth, of experience, that only made her more captivating. She was deeply asleep, her breathing slow and even, her face relaxed and serene.

I sat down beside her, the worn wood of the hammock cool against my skin. The squeak of the screen door faded into the background as I reached out, my hand gently brushing against her arm. She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering open, then closed again as she drifted back into slumber. I began to massage her feet, a ritual we'd established during our early dating days, a small act of intimacy that always brought a smile to her lips. The warmth of my hands, the pressure of my kneading, relaxed her muscles, easing the tension she unknowingly carried. It wasn't just a massage; it was a silent conversation, a reassurance of my devotion.

As she continued to relax, I extended my touch, working my way up her calves, then her thighs, my fingers tracing the curves of her muscles, building anticipation. The fabric of her skirt rose higher, revealing more of her white nylon panties, the tantalizing glimpse of her pale skin beneath. A shiver ran down my spine, a potent blend of lust and desire. It was a carefully crafted tableau, a perfect moment of vulnerability and surrender. She shifted slightly, her hips arching, and I felt a jolt of electricity course through me. It was a clear signal, a silent invitation to push further.

I gently pulled at the waistband of her panties, my movements slow and deliberate, testing the waters. She shifted again, her body tensing, and I knew she was ready. With a decisive motion, I pulled the panties down, exposing her delicate pink flesh, her swollen clitoris glistening with anticipation. The sight of her bare cheeks, flushed with arousal, sent a wave of pleasure through me. Her arousal was palpable, a visible manifestation of her desires. The soft, creamy texture of her skin begged to be touched, caressed, explored.

As I continued to massage her hips, she tensed further, her body radiating heat. She lifted her legs, spreading her knees, inviting me to continue my ministrations. Without hesitation, I obliged, my fingers gliding across her swollen labia, stimulating her clitoris, escalating her pleasure. She began to tremble, her muscles contracting involuntarily, and a small amount of clear fluid began to seep from her crotch, a testament to her mounting excitement. It was a beautiful, chaotic display of raw, uninhibited pleasure. The scent of her arousal filled the air, intoxicating and irresistible.

Her legs started to shake uncontrollably as she approached climax, her thighs pressing against me, intensifying the stimulation. She squeezed my fingers tight against her clitoris, a desperate plea for release, and she erupted in a series of intense, rhythmic contractions. A torrent of warm, glistening fluid gushed from her body, soaking the hammock and the surrounding area. It was a symphony of pleasure, a primal release of pent-up desire.

Finally, she relaxed, her body limp and exhausted, her breathing returning to normal. The lingering warmth of her body radiated against mine, a comforting presence in the humid air. I gently removed the wet panties, revealing her pale, glistening skin. Then, with another swift movement, I unfastened the tie of her skirt, pulling it away from her waist, leaving her completely exposed, bottomless. Her dark, curly pussy hair hung loose around her shoulders, framing her face. As I looked up at her chest, I noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra, her dark areolas peeking through the white fabric of her shirt. An involuntary reflex caused me to reach out, my hand instinctively sliding beneath the hem, caressing the softness of her breasts, delighting in their firmness and the sensitivity of her nipples.

She lifted her legs, drawing them up to her chest, inviting me to continue my exploration. I obliged, my fingers tracing the contours of her body, teasing her senses, feeding her desires. The gentle rhythm of the hammock amplified the sensations, creating a wave of pleasure that washed over us both. Her hips rose and fell with each thrust, her body arching in response to my touch, her pleasure escalating with every movement. I felt a surge of power, a primal connection that transcended words.

As I continued to stimulate her, she tightened her vagina into a pussy hug, clinging to me with all her might. I pulled her cheeks against my chest, forcing my erection deep inside her, maximizing the pleasure she derived from our encounter. The rhythmic pounding of our bodies against each other filled the air, a testament to our shared desire. We continued to thrust, our movements synchronized, lost in a world of sensation and pleasure. The hammock rocked us back and forth, amplifying the intensity of our encounter, pushing us closer to the brink of ecstasy.

Finally, we reached the pinnacle of pleasure, our bodies locked in a passionate embrace. My release was explosive, a torrent of semen flooding her receptive cavity, while she climaxed with a series of intense, involuntary contractions. We lay there, breathless and exhausted, clinging to each other in the aftermath of our encounter. The scent of arousal still hung in the air, a lingering reminder of the pleasure we had shared.

As she slowly recovered, she turned to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She slowly pushed herself up to stand beside the hammock, her arms outstretched as if stretching. The shirt tail rose above her pussy, emphasizing the fact that she was completely bottomless. Then she unbuttoned the shirt and dropped it, revealing her naked body in all its glory. She reached out to touch my belt, a silent invitation to continue our intimate exploration.

“Do we really need all this?” she asked, her voice soft and playful. “I’m ready.”

Without hesitation, I complied, unbuckling my pants and sliding them down, exposing my own naked body. She then unknotted the wrap-a-round skirt tie and raised her hips again, inviting me to continue my ministrations. As I looked up at her chest, I realized for the second time that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her dark areolas showed through the white shirt. Then, with a final, decisive movement, I pulled her panties off, leaving her completely bottomless.

As I continued to caress her swollen pussy lips, she leaned into me, her body relaxed and content. She felt my pleasure and knew that I was enjoying every moment of our encounter. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I withdrew, allowing her to recover. She lay back against the hammock, her body slowly regaining its composure. The warmth of her body radiated against mine, a comforting presence in the humid air.

Ron stood there, watching her doze in the hammock, his heart filled with gratitude and contentment. He knew that he had been given a precious gift, a woman who brought him unparalleled pleasure and joy. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t help but smile, knowing that their love story was just beginning. He was content with the simple pleasures of life, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the scent of honeysuckle in the air, and the exquisite pleasure of his beloved Anne. It was a perfect moment, a testament to the enduring power of love and desire.

Did you like this story? Ron's Restless Dreamer look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.