stopped and posed and dug again, pressing against her clit. He eased out with a slick grin.
She screamed pieces of his name in between obscenities.
His voice was mellow. “Do you like it or love it?” He dug after he questioned. His dick scraped the bottom. He pushed deep and lifted her with his stroke. She touched the air. He asked her to squeeze.
She closed her eyes tight as if that made her squeeze harder. Those muscles had nothing to do with
those
muscles.
She hugged tight. Didn’t want to lose the feeling. She closed her eyes even tighter to take the picture. Dark muscular back. Felt like something good to hold on while being pleased. She knew what he liked. She eased him out by sitting up. She ate her mess.
After she cleaned him her spin was slow. She went to her knees and spread her arms across the bed. Her back had arch, two dimples and shape. The color was premium; like she bought the deepest brown they had to offer.
He grabbed each cheek and kneaded them. She needed this. His right hand pressed hard and rode its way up to her neck. He left it there and gripped the back of her neck. He pushed her head to the bed. She couldn’t breathe. She would worry about breath later. His hands hurt her neck, but she wouldn’t dare move. She would feel any residual pain later, after her body bucked ferociously, her senses emptied, and her world collapsed.
He filled her with one stroke. She jumped. Almost lost her breath. Her body shook violently. It was brutal, almost savage the way he filled her cavity. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
He stayed still. Didn’t move an inch. She felt every one. She opened her eyes and watched his shadow against the wall. The shadow was bigger, but wasn’t as defined. His pumps were smooth against the lightly flickering wall. Her ass looked even bigger. Not better.
He began a slow thrust that popped when he reached her capacity. On her neck, she felt the power in his hand. She wanted to be held down. She wanted to be forced to take everything he knew.
He spoke confidently, “You can keep your money if you don’t come when I say.” He knew she loved what she couldn’t have. She loved the battle, and didn’t care who won the war. She didn’t care if he knew her body; she was a winner either way.
“You got sixty seconds.” His voice was buttery, like he was singing instructions. The bass in it hit her spine. The confidence hit her sex. She wanted it raw, no chaser.
He gave it to her. “Fifty seconds,” he barked. He adjusted his hips and spread her ass to the farthest east and west and shuffled himself deep. He felt the beginning of something new when he entered to his max. He swung to the left and pumped slow for three strokes. He listened to her breathing. She hummed like a new car. He needed an older noise. He swung right and dug. It was methodical. His probe was expertly done. Now her engine rattled like a ’67 Chevy. “Forty seconds.” He pushed himself deeper than she would allow. He consumed her spot. She ran toward the bed. He brought her back, held her head down, and teased her ass-hole. His stroke was beautiful, like a well-placed kiss. He heard the splatter of her juice as he penetrated. His hairs were saturated and stuck together. Her sex smelled sweet. “Thirty.”
She felt her body slump. She didn’t care if she failed. She wanted his rhythm. He obliged. Gave her his soul. He never took it all the way out. He knew she needed her spot filled. He knew how. Knew how to give her pleasure with pain. His thumb was not gentle. His grip was not loving. His strokes were distant. She loved it. “Twenty seconds.” She blacked out.
He was thicker than most.
He slung dick like dope. Cops frisked him, but never arrested him. He slung dick like dope.
She wandered in from the blackout. Black hairnet cradling her head, and her ass poking out of her panties. She loved purple. Said it reminded her of kings and queens. She stood in the middle of the room, hands on
She screamed pieces of his name in between obscenities.
His voice was mellow. “Do you like it or love it?” He dug after he questioned. His dick scraped the bottom. He pushed deep and lifted her with his stroke. She touched the air. He asked her to squeeze.
She closed her eyes tight as if that made her squeeze harder. Those muscles had nothing to do with
those
muscles.
She hugged tight. Didn’t want to lose the feeling. She closed her eyes even tighter to take the picture. Dark muscular back. Felt like something good to hold on while being pleased. She knew what he liked. She eased him out by sitting up. She ate her mess.
After she cleaned him her spin was slow. She went to her knees and spread her arms across the bed. Her back had arch, two dimples and shape. The color was premium; like she bought the deepest brown they had to offer.
He grabbed each cheek and kneaded them. She needed this. His right hand pressed hard and rode its way up to her neck. He left it there and gripped the back of her neck. He pushed her head to the bed. She couldn’t breathe. She would worry about breath later. His hands hurt her neck, but she wouldn’t dare move. She would feel any residual pain later, after her body bucked ferociously, her senses emptied, and her world collapsed.
He filled her with one stroke. She jumped. Almost lost her breath. Her body shook violently. It was brutal, almost savage the way he filled her cavity. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
He stayed still. Didn’t move an inch. She felt every one. She opened her eyes and watched his shadow against the wall. The shadow was bigger, but wasn’t as defined. His pumps were smooth against the lightly flickering wall. Her ass looked even bigger. Not better.
He began a slow thrust that popped when he reached her capacity. On her neck, she felt the power in his hand. She wanted to be held down. She wanted to be forced to take everything he knew.
He spoke confidently, “You can keep your money if you don’t come when I say.” He knew she loved what she couldn’t have. She loved the battle, and didn’t care who won the war. She didn’t care if he knew her body; she was a winner either way.
“You got sixty seconds.” His voice was buttery, like he was singing instructions. The bass in it hit her spine. The confidence hit her sex. She wanted it raw, no chaser.
He gave it to her. “Fifty seconds,” he barked. He adjusted his hips and spread her ass to the farthest east and west and shuffled himself deep. He felt the beginning of something new when he entered to his max. He swung to the left and pumped slow for three strokes. He listened to her breathing. She hummed like a new car. He needed an older noise. He swung right and dug. It was methodical. His probe was expertly done. Now her engine rattled like a ’67 Chevy. “Forty seconds.” He pushed himself deeper than she would allow. He consumed her spot. She ran toward the bed. He brought her back, held her head down, and teased her ass-hole. His stroke was beautiful, like a well-placed kiss. He heard the splatter of her juice as he penetrated. His hairs were saturated and stuck together. Her sex smelled sweet. “Thirty.”
She felt her body slump. She didn’t care if she failed. She wanted his rhythm. He obliged. Gave her his soul. He never took it all the way out. He knew she needed her spot filled. He knew how. Knew how to give her pleasure with pain. His thumb was not gentle. His grip was not loving. His strokes were distant. She loved it. “Twenty seconds.” She blacked out.
He was thicker than most.
He slung dick like dope. Cops frisked him, but never arrested him. He slung dick like dope.
She wandered in from the blackout. Black hairnet cradling her head, and her ass poking out of her panties. She loved purple. Said it reminded her of kings and queens. She stood in the middle of the room, hands on
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