.. you bastard!"That's another thing. When you write fiction, your imagination runs continuously, sort of like a hard drive that doesn't have a "sleep... feature. And inanimate objects get personified in a way that normal people would report to their shrink.Of course writers don't go to shrinks. They write instead, and all that garbage inside them pours onto the page, instead of in one of the Doctor's ears and out the other as he wonders what his lovely wife is going to present him with at dinner. Her ass was just as ready for me as her pussy was. I decided to ask for her ass by putting the tip of my cock on it with a bit of pressure. It was still completely wet from her pussy juice. She reached around, kneeling upwards and grabbed me by the lower back. I lost balance and slid deep in to her ass. She screamed a bit. It was so tight, but she seemed to be loving it. She had no problem taking the whole thing. She said ‘Come in my asshole you dirty boy.’ I was going to take my time with. More

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