Downward his hands move hovering just above your stomach, where his body aches to plant his seed, the a****l inside him straining to fill you with him...elf, the spawn of his pleasure, the echo of his need. His hand trembles but still does not touch you, he denies himself to drink in each moment of you. Further down, he lowers his head, as each breath brings a hint of you, the slightest hint of your fragrance excites him and frightens him. He is a rock among men, hard, unyielding a weighty force. “27 Fifty” announced the driver. I through him two twenties and we went into the Marriott. Margarite nudged me towards the elevator and whispered in my ear, “We’re checked in already and it’s time to fuck, my little shit.” The elevator opened and we entered alone. I turned to her and ripped her blouse off her to expose her braless jugs. She gasped and grabbed my head and buried my face into the valley of her great white peaks. I pushed her to the wall of the car and slobbered all over her. More

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