Not wanting the feeling to end, I take his head in my hands and pull it back off my cock. He looks up with a hurt look on his face. “I need to suc... your cock right now” I say as I lift him and lower myself. Russ had been busy while he was servicing me. His pants were off and his cock, 9 inches of cut glory, was fully engorged and throbbing. Before he had completely stood up, I had his cock buried to the balls down my throat. He started groaning before I had stroked it in and out of my. He became very shocked at my reaction. ‘Who made you the way you are?’ I asked. ‘I have never told this story before,’ he said, as he sat down, ‘but I have rehearsed this over and over in my head, at least a hundred times. I was born in 1863 to Harold Dean Hunter and Elizabeth Anne Hunter. My parents were very wealthy and we lived in a rich neighborhood in New York. A nanny raised me, my mother had a terminal illness and the doctors could find nothing to ease her pain. My father couldn’t stand. More

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