Cum in my mouth, or on my face is fine, some fumbling with my hole, but there was never anything...well hot.But the dominant guys, those were somethin....I frequent some chat rooms, hunting for the perfect guy. For most part it is only dissappoitment. Only talk, they lure some nudes (and I am careful, mind you) and they are gone. I end up visciously masturbating to porn, often multiple times.But then I found one. He was older, normal bulid, but I do not care much about how you look. He was. He forced those thoughts away and tried without much success to concentrate on trying to come up with a plan for his future beyond the next few weeks. He just didn’t know what he was going to do.As he drove north up the valley to the east of the coastal mountains the last verse of the Rudyard Kipling poem, ‘The Young British Soldier’ flashed through his mind. He was sure he’d remember it for the rest of his life. It had been displayed over the door of the mud-brick building his team had called. I breathe in deeply to stop moving completely, so I do not feel anything – futility. My jaw hurts from gags, and you using my face as your cum-hole. The sharp breath and tightening of my stomach makes my cunt and ass hurt deeply, raw, loose, sloppy, feeling the stretch of cock, fist and object. Blink. The blinking red light, the evil eye above in the corner of the room distracts for a second. Fresh humiliation hits home, only half able to process the potential, further degradation, but no. The truth of the matter was he was incredibly sexy for a man in his mid-forties. Once again she found her eyes drawn to the mat of dark brown hair peeking out from above the buttons of his black dress shirt. A few silver strands taunted her. She knew it wouldn’t take many more drinks before she would be tangling her fingers in the strands. ‘I think we’re done here?’ Jack looked questioningly at Emma as he spoke to the bartender. At Emma’s nod, Jack handed the lady behind the counter a few.