is it the quiet moments I have when I’m alone, fucking my cunt, about the things that can never happen? or reliving memories of…

mmmm, kissing, pressing flesh. his sweat dripping on to my skin. fucking me, again and again… over and over. more. more. more. kissing, suprising, lots of kissing.

his constant thrusts, forcing me to lean forward, pushing my cunt up to him and cradling his cock with my g-spot- does he even know that in this angle he’s hitting it perfectly? it doesn’t matter. my moans are getting louder, and his thrusts get harder. He doesn’t pull my hair, he doesn’t spank me, or cuss at me. he doesn’t call me a whore, or a slut. his teeth meet my flesh, and I tell him, harder…. he complies and his cock thickens as I moan with pleasure. he is not concerned with my pleasure, and maybe I’m not so concerned with his. this is mutual. this is fucking and nothing more.

pushing and pounding me… until I am exhausted. I am covered in sweat and cum. and I finally tell him to stop. it’s been hours, and I can’t take any more.

i have to stop. i am raw and sore. and dizzy from the alcohol. one more time…. rock hard, nailing me once more. holy fuck, he’s a god damn machine.

ok, now- we have to stop.

and he has to go, because I will just keep fucking him if he doesn’t go.