“Whose asshole is this?” he asked and thrust his cock inside me, his thighs pressing into my ass. “It’s yours, Master,” I whispered, gratefu... that I could answer without reservation. “And what is it for, slut?” He asked me, pulling his cock almost completely out and then pressing it in to the hilt as I answered, “For your pleasure, Sir,” I shuddered as the first waves of an orgasm I hadn’t even known was upon me started to crest. “Don’t you dare cum,” he commanded as he removed his cock and I. But more importantly, I got fucked once or twice a week. I began to crave it, need it, want it so badly, I would masturbate when needed to relieve the new cravings. But with each orgasm came a need for another. Soon, I was masturbating daily. I bought toys, stuffing my cunt with life like cocks, hammering my soaked cunt often, for hours at a time it seemed. And god, it was a daily need. 48-years old, a smoldering, wet cunt in constant need of relief. Then my world changed in ways never. More

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