I love your stringy hair, your sweet face, your tiny ears, your gently swelling belly, your long artistic fingers that probably never held a paintbrush since you were a schoolgirl, your stubby pink-nail-polished toes. You buck violently under me, throwing your arms around my neck and pressing your lips against mine, and then fall back, panting. Her skin’s smooth as smooth, but quite pale. Find this young woman, and turn her.”
“Turn her?”
“Right. “Marcilla…” you whisper, and gesture at me. I’m coming, my heart. I can feel the orgasm coming for you before you do yourself, the tension in your pelvis building up to a crest, so I’m ready when you begin thrusting violently against my face and crying out, your pleasure making me thrill inside at the fact that I’m giving it to you. To be able to be out in the day, with all my strength, free to do as I wanted!
