He exclaimed over my back, “I’m going to shoot.”
“Do it,” I whispered, riding his beef. “Blow inside me.”
Perhaps a number of components sent him into a s****l blitz: my overt command, the forceful action of me backing into his c**k, tightening my buttocks around his inflexible post, his fingers digging into my bottom, his continuous thrusting, the heavy scent of male lust that filled the bedroom, and our labored panting. What transpired was spectacular. Von Shelly abruptly pulled me against him, ground his d**k inside me as far as it would go, and grumbled to me, “Drilling you, Mr. Dumar…Hard. Very hard.” Then he arched his back and perceptibly filled the prophylactic that separated our naked bodies, holding that position for the next eight…eighteen…twenty-eight seconds, until he releas
