Birmingham, perhaps. The temptation was to get it over with; a hotel room, a bottle of vodka, sleeping tablets, except for one fear. That the gang-rap..., which left me sore and leaking semen, had made me pregnant. My life didn’t matter to me. A new life perhaps growing in me, did.A biggish motor-caravan drew up.“Where are you headed to?”I shrugged. “South.”The man, youngish – thirties, perhaps, bearded – told me he was turning off the motorway at Penrith. Well, okay, it wasn’t very far, but at. Slowly, carefully, he stood and unzipped his jeans and pried out his cock. It was as hard as he could remember it ever being. He rubbed it with the silky panties.Maybe she wouldn't be awake. Maybe he would stand by the bed undressing, and as soon as he was naked he would put a leg over her, kneeling astride her, so that his enormous rigid tool would be suspended and swinging over her face when she opened her eyes. She would be overwhelmed by the size of his organ and would start showering it. More

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