“You aren’t wearing panties. Oh, you just get hotter and hotter,” he grins at me. We move together more urgently, wanting each other so fucking ...uch. I lean back, spreading my thighs for him, wrapping my legs around him. “Fuck me.” He moves to me then, his hard cock nudges my wetness and I lean back a little more inviting him to have me. He pushes slowly, sliding his cock inside of me, my pussy enveloping all of him as he goes deep. For a few moments we stay like that, lips meeting in lustful. I’m an artist in oil colors, and a sculptor. I run in marathons, so I’m in good shape. Most women smile when I walk by, I think it’s because I’m 6’6” and wear tight clothing. I have hazel eyes and brown hair. My parents were immigrants from Poland, and our whole f****y is very close. I have my own apartment and my own studio. I’d known about The Primeval Woman, an annual arts festival that takes place every year out in the Nevada desert. It deserves it’s wild reputation. It’s Federal territory. More

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