‘Three’. The blow isn’t that hard. XXX Hot How. How. Immune to the distractions of, between spanks, me walking to your face, and sliding my cock: rigid, into your throat, your tongue somehow remaining soft as your lips grip me. We have some lovely things…
Blinded to the world. Smooth beeswax. Observing. Decanters- vintage, of course; glasses. They’re so stylish, aren’t they? The column of your limb, snug, sweaty, next to the hard, unforgiving, warm-honey of the wood. Not a chink of light entering your retinas. I’d considered doing this quickly. The blow isn’t that hard. Facing the back of the chair; knees spread. You know what’s coming. Table linen. ‘Three’. Consequently, you can feel the pulse of your blood, throbbing, negotiating its way through the damaged capillaries in your arse.
