I was about to roll over on her and make love again, but she pushed me off. "It hasn't been used in a while and that last pounding made it a little so...e, lover," she said. "How about if you tend to Liz's needs now. I need to go upstairs and entertain my hearthmates with the story." She pushed herself out of bed and left the master suite without bothering to dress. Who could have imagined this when I met the crazy little goth girl back as juniors in high school?I sat facing Liz. It was where she. "Ain't you gonna ask?" she said.I thought she meant swiving since that was on my mind, as usual, but I was smart enough to hold my peace for a change and puff her long-stemmed, clay pipe."House we had before this one burned," she said. "Lost my first born. Not sure how it started, likely a cinder from the fireplace, always blamed myself. I was out in the field with my husband, hoeing corn, and by the time we smelled the smoke it was probably too late. I tore away from him and ran in toward the. He wasfaster. He fucked her rapidly but what was most eroticwas the fact that he started sliding the sausage in herpussy together with his own man meat. The sausagecouldn’t take the pressure of such tightness and slowlystarted crumbling with the friction. It was so eroticto see the sausage meat smeared cock pushing the meatdeeper and deeper inside my wife’s pussy. He must have really got his rocks off on this becausewith one final grunt he collapsed on my wife, as Garyand I watched. It is my fault. My anatomy is weird, and so is my brain. Phallic bits of plastic (or glass or wood or organically harvested rainbows or whatever the newest fad is) just don’t inspire me. They don’t reach the right spots. Doesn’t matter if they are realistic enough for you to think some dude must be sitting in a bathtub full of ice right now crying inconsolably, or if they look like something that modern art installation enthusiasts might buy for half a million dollars. Shape, color, texture,.