He scooped them up with his cock and slapped my face with it. “Good slut, very good slut” he repeated. While fucking my face he asked “ever been...ass fucked faggot?” I moaned a muffled “no” he said “what bitch, I can’t hear you with my cock in your throat. Not that it matters, you’ve got no choice!” He pulled out of my throat, as I gasped for air he bent me over the toilet, and pulled down my track pants. He slapped my smooth bare ass, then fingered my hole. He used my globs of spit as lube. He. " She pointed along the ditch that ran beside the cottage and on down to the coast. "They are probably off down there." Oh, right. Seems a bit late though. It will be dark in an hour or so." There's no accounting for twitchers," Krysta said. "If they hear there's something unusual around they'll be dozens of them turning up in no time. Mind you it's more likely they're installing themselves so they can catch the last of the birds flying in at sunset." Well, rather them than me. It looks cold. Pulled right off. The sea of hands continued up my tanned firm legs like a wave. Some squeezing others massaging me. I didnt know how many people tugged and grabbed at my shorts. I heard guys screaming that they wanted to see that sweet ass under the denim. I was on the big video screen. I tried to hold on to my shorts but too many hands grabbed the pockets, seems and belt loops. I didnt expect them to last the animalistic tugging. The denim lasted only for about a minute. Afterall the shorts. Please also remember that this is a fiction and doing this in real life would be bad and would send you to jail). I also would love to have some feedback on my story, so please go on the forum to tell me what you think about it.]Somewhere in France, in a small provincial town, a young man named Charles Dupont wakes up with a start. He looks at alarm clock. Only 3 AM. Another bad dream, like every night. Turning on the light, he examines the surroundings. The shitty apartment is still the same:.