I feel better the next time I wake up. Like I might live to eat breakfast, at least, which was nothing like a guarantee a couple hours ago.
He’s out. Curled up with his broad, zitty back against my furry front, snoring aggressively, twenty thousand leagues under the sea of consciousness. Musta worn himself out, rutting like an elk for an hour and a quarter; rough, clumsy, and impatient, howling with every jiz, reloading while he was still inside me. Romantic? Not especially. Inflammatory? Insanely. When he rolled me onto my back, his earnest red face framed between my feet, he jacked me while he f****d me. We came together, first time I’ve ever taken a mouthful of my own load. He pulled out and fell off his knees like a tree; he was asleep before he hit the bed beside me.
I have no idea
