There must be emissions of pre-cum as I feel the hand sliding easily over my helmet with the copious lubrication.As any guy will tell you, there comes...a point when the focus of the mind is entirely on the cock as the climax approaches. The world disappears, and so it is with me – my eyes are tight shut and I am no longer conscious of anyone on the train, or even that I am on a train. My cock is throbbing and super-sensitive almost to the point of pain. The hand must sense this as it slows down. Then we drove to her home and it was a big mansion with all sophisticated interiors. meanwhile her baby slept off. she went inside to lay her baby on the bed and then we had coffee together.. she started opening up more and more and was free with me. later she decided to change dress and went inside. I was dumb struck to see her coming back With a sexy night gown. it was of orange colour and was tightly hugging to her a sexy body and curves having a thin strap over her shoulders.. my tool. I would not want others in my small town to catch me reading it. I carefully place my hands over the cover in a way that obscures the title.The prose is poetic and lurid and deals with some shocking subject matter. I am both aroused and conflicted as I read. I find myself laughing as I peruse Anais Nin's 'letter to her sponsor" in which she hurls hateful invectives at him for forcing her as a writer, to turning erotic art into unimaginative mechanical sex acts.As I am perusing this prose, I can. It had been a long time since she had experienced two men at the same time, but she quickly established a rhythm to suck Kevin while she rode Henry. She came again, and this time she felt Henry's penis start to pulse inside her. She sat down on it all the way, filling her up to her cervix, and felt him explode inside her. She kept sucking Kevin through her mutual orgasm with Henry, but when she felt Henry's penis soften and start to slip out of her she got up and stroked Kevin while she climbed.