He isn't as young as the usual interviewee, possibly in his mid to late twenties, very tall, well over one eighty five and lanky to the point of thin,...all muscle and sinew.He is wearing a faded red, now turned into a dirty pink, long sleeved cotton shirt, with the sleeves rolled to half way up his forearms and denim jeans, which aren't so much fashionably faded and torn so much, as just old and used to death. The frayed cuffs hung over a pair of tortured brown riding boots, which looked like. It was so swollen I was in actual agony. "Fuck me," she moaned, "please!" "Not yet," I whispered. She was so wet my fingers slipped easily inside. I stroked the velvety flesh and felt her spasm again, her muscles gripping my fingers. At the same time, I rolled the pad of my thumb slowly around her clitoris, not pressing too hard, not touching it directly. She flung her head back and moaned as I plunged three fingers inside, finger-fucking her until the juices trickled down my wrist. As I. More

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