.. both of my arms are spread apart.....tied to the bedhead..... I can't stop you or touch you..... my tongue flicks out to touch your cock....feeling...your pre-cum....ever so carefully you remove yourself from the bed...... what feels like minutes .....you eventually wedge yourself between my legs......again you go.... still playing....... time takes for ever... I struggle not being able to see, I can't hear anything the scent of you lingers in the air........ I push my knees together to force. When I came back home from New York, she vowed to… ‘stomp a mud hole in that white boy’ if she ever saw him again. ‘I just don’t know what you see in that big lump of nothing living off a trust. I know Mr. New York City ain’t worked a day in his life! How would he have taken care of you like a man should take care of a woman playing finger paint all day long?’ She said to me as I cried my eyes out in her lap the night I got back home. ‘Mama he’s a sculptor, not a painter. And he is a good man,. More

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