His other hand started to stroke my ass, and sliding up and down my thighs. My cock erected in a second. "Well, well", he said. "Seems like someone is...ready for some action". Before I was able to react he sat me down on the bed, and unzipped his skirt letting it fall to the floor. While he stepped out of it his big, hard cock was barely covered by his pink string panties. He flipped it out, and placed the tip on my lips. I opened my mouth and he pushed himself into my wet and warm mouth.I had. It wasn’t real. What was real was writing about the fucked up shit, taking all that rage that builds up inside of you until you want to scream, and putting it onto words. That was beautiful. Not fucking sonnets about roses and shit like that. Yeah, I so had her number. “Show me.” I challenged her, so she did and I was amazed. It was brutal and raw and naked. She wrote about fucking, not making love, and of hurt and pain and it was real. We ended up in one of the quieter downstairs bedrooms;. More

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