I enjoy the revealing wear of summer, of course, but winter’s suggestive sweaters and tight jeans provoke my imagination even more. Ripping off laye... after layer, in heated moments, has its own special eroticism. The thought of sex, unsurprisingly, cut its way through my boredom, and I found my hand reaching down past my boxer-briefs. I was soft. I moved my hand down to the bottom of my balls and ran my hand over them, feeling their smooth, shaved texture. I took them in my hand, and squeezed. Bradley wasted no time in mounting my butt, he didn't even manage to wipe the splooge that was seeping from my ruptured anus. His penis was steel hard and his huge penile head felt as if it was the size of a soft ball as it touched my very tender anal opening. I cried out in caution '...be careful you're big as a ball...' Bradley snickered '...this is how you train a bitch to appreciate you...' And with that Bradley lunged deep into my bowels in one smooth motion. I cried out and kicked my. No longer able to travel. Death slowly inundating their liveliness until ending it. Sorrow taking over the joy I once found in them. Until their death becomes a sort of relief for them and for me, a terrible relief. Because, in their nature, in the thing I love most in them, their feistiness, they hate holding me back because of their weakness, their mortality. I get selfish about it, wanting every moment with them, even the worst moments. So their death is my release. Things become better. When I asked her where she learned to do that she blushed and said that her mother had taught her. I was a disbeliever so Jill called out the door for her mother. When she arrived she asked her mother to tell me that she had taught her how to please another girl. Her mother did better than that. She locked the door, undressed, and got between my legs. Oh my God, was she ever good. Daddy was nothing compared to Jill’s mother. She brought me to the brink of an orgasm and stopped just to do it.