His cock was an entity of it's own pulsing in desperation to be stroked. I scratched his sides with both hands and pulled him by his shoulders. My coc... as deep as could be he moaned and rose. I would have liked to whisper in his ear but couldn't reach. I commanded for the first time in my life, "je veux que tu me chevauches" he did as was told. My cock slipping out of him then drooping waiting impatiently to be used again. I lay back. Put my hands behind my head and removed my tiara. I smirked. She had called him at the shop so many times, but either there was no answer or if he picked up he said he was busy. Every night she lay in bed twisting and turning, yearning the touch of those hands again. The memory of that degrading fucking made her pussy wet whenever she thought about it. And she thought about it a lot. The result was that she was constantly turned on these days. She looked at guys differently. In malls, in office, even at home with the hired help, when she looked a guy she. More

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