Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 291 - Chapitre 300

The girl stopped abruptly, spinning on her heel to face me. And then I found myself gazing intently at her face. I realized her eyes were a similar color to my own, if a few shades lighter. The way the light reflected made them seem almost amber. But no, they were most definitely brown. Taking in the rest of her features, I noted a smattering of freckles dotting either side of her nose, and a few on its bridge. They were faded from the sun, but still visible. I swear she wasn't wearing even a splash of makeup, but as I continued staring, I realized she must be. But it was such a masterfully subtle application, it was next to impossible to tell. Her eyes seemed to have just a little... pop. A silly thought came to mind, making me blink. This girl looked like she could have been photoshopped!In heels, she looked considerably shorter than me. But as I assessed her, I realized she was probably close to my height without them. Maybe a smidge taller. What really drew me in, more than anyth

Our food arrived just then, interrupting the invisible bubble that had silently enveloped us. I stared at the girl as the waitress set her miniature salad in front of her. That meager salad would probably fill her up completely, I thought to myself, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. Thankfully, the server placed my two sushi rolls in the middle of the table. She clearly shared my tacit concern that Grace needed more sustenance than a mere side salad.Grabbing a piece of sushi, I ate it right away. I wasn't really hungry, but I wanted the girl to see that it was ok to eat in front of me. She picked up the pair of chopsticks that had been left and stared at them dubiously. Smiling as I watched her try to wield the wooden sticks, I finally waved the waitress back over and asked for a fork. Come on. American girls didn't eat salads with chopsticks! That took practice, which Grace clearly didn't have.Much to my surprise, she refused to acknowledge the presence of the fork after our

Unable to resist, I followed her contours down, admiring her stomach. It wasn't flat, but it wasn't puffy either. Honestly, it was fucking impeccable. She had a piercing in her belly button, which was alluring to me. Partly because it was something I knew I would never do to my own body. A shortcoming, perhaps, of being Japanese. It went against centuries of culture for a woman to mar her body in such a way. Yet, seeing it on Grace had an effect on me I never would have suspected.That's when the weight of what was happening really began to set in. I wanted this girl. In a way I had never wanted another being in my life, let alone a female.The last journey my eyes took went further south. It was no surprise to see that her pussy was shaved completely bare. Mine was, too. Just that morning, in fact. While it may be "frowned upon" in Japanese culture, it was one of those things that many girls got away with anyway, because nobody would be the wiser. Except for lovers, of course.My wor

The young girl's body suddenly bucked upward, hard. Her pelvis slammed against my jaw, making me clamp my teeth shut. Unfortunately, my tongue was caught in between and a lance of pain erupted. But I ignored it. Forcing my mouth open again, I stabbed her clit once more, still lapping at it. Her body writhed as her orgasm rolled through her. Nobody had ever reacted so violently to an orgasm I had induced before. I clung to her, continuing to molest her clit with my tongue until she finally settled down.Unable to resist, I let my tongue glide down her slit once more, until I reached her opening. Juice was slowly dribbling from her, and the second I tasted it again, my brain exploded. I started licking her, drinking the honeyed liquid as it seeped from her pussy. I kept my face buried in her crotch until she started squirming again. That's when I realized I could barely breathe.Pulling my head out from between her legs, I drew in several gasping breaths. Gazing up Grace's body, I found

She'd been playing for nearly an hour, and I'd run out of expletives to whisper as I'd watched her. Somewhere, sometime, I'd meandered my way back downstairs and into the press, and eased and nudged and drifted my way in closer to her. I stared in rapture at her, watching the way she moved with her music. A stolen glance at a standing poster educated me a bit; I was apparently listening to a selection of music written by some (probably) dead guy named Rachmaninoff. I'd never heard of him, but it sounded... strange. Beautifully strange, like something from a weird, slightly surreal dream. Part of me had decided that I really, really liked it.But she was my focus.Her fingers were so nimble, so dextrous. The muscles on her shoulders and forearms would stand, starkly shadowed when she was called to exert herself, and I mused over what a supremely fit and capable athlete she must be.At last she finished her... I didn't even know the correct word. Set? Performance? Piece? The applause wa