One of them had a pool table, but the rest all looked like some kind of variation on a living room, all ornate.Except for the bathroom, of course, which was huge, with ornate marble fixtures, with gold-colored plumbing. Each of these rooms had several large radiators.He then walked me back past the stairs, whereupon I soon figured out that this huge foyer only took up about half the houses depth. I walked down a hall under the stairs, to a huge- ten feet wide at least- hall that led past two rooms, one to each side. One was clearly a dining room. The other one was- well it must have been a ball room.In back of both of these rooms was a huge kitchen, where a man and a woman were both working on what smelled like it was to be a great meal. On one side of the kitchen was a 6-person table for eating off of. The rest of the kitchen was very traditional. All old school appliances."Oh, young Mr. Silverstein," the man said, "You didn't tell me we'd be having guests over for dinner. I would. My lips taste the skin of his abdomen. My hands, not wanting to be left out, move to explore their own paths. One hand moves to his ass and grips it firmly, pressing the nails into his skin. The other touches his scrotum, cradling and feeling the weight of each round sphere covered inside. While each hand burns it’s own mark, my mouth moves to its own reward. I taste the salt from his skin, and feel the textured difference of each part of him, the smoothness of his hips mixed with the coarseness of his hairs. My mouth moves closer to the hard, pulsing prize before me. Opening my eyes, I gaze at this object of every young girl’s mind, and I hear the little girl in me sigh with pleasure, as she has just been shown a secret that only she and I know of. My tongue sneaks out to lick the beads of moisture that have started to slide down the head, making their own paths for my tongue to travel. The taste is new to me, not unpleasant, but a salty, slightly bitter taste. Its smoothness is.
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