The eights were rolled, Thurman the undertaker had blanched, but he’d smiled gamely. ?Guess I better get dressed again, Miss Ivy.? And she’d smile... sympathetically. He’d left with Wishbone, she’d watched ?The View? and when he’d returned, naked, welted and in a sack (Carried over Wishbone’s shoulder from the parking garage of the PainCafe hotel) there were no complaints.Thurman had rolled out of the sack, the welts and red bloody streaks all over his cringing stiff little body. Eights called. I don’t hold back and begin orgasm hard. I work my clit faster; he thrusts up meeting my blows down onto him, making the orgasm all the more powerful. I am grateful, and feel the explosion like a shattering piece of glass. I feel the grip of my walls squeeze around him tight, so hard he cries out. I feel him flood himself into me; our glorious waves of splendor are met together at once. We fall into a harsh breathing; I lie on top of him, until I feel as though I can move. I roll onto my side. More

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