challenges the necessity in promises and oaths.‖ ―Will you fuck me hard and long?‖ She asked. ―I‘ll fuck you as hard and long as I possibly can, but that‘s it; I‘m not promising that you‘ll be overwhelmed.‖ ―Do you want to fuck me hard and long?‖ She was getting on my last nerve and my telephone tolerance was reaching its limit, ―Yes. I want to pound you hard and long, and pound you as long and hard as I possibly can. But that‘s it. I‘m not promising I can meet your understanding of a proper fuck, so can we get off the phone?‖ ―I‘ll leave in five minutes,‖ she answered, which I understood to be twenty to thirty minutes, which meant that she‘d be arriving my place around 3:00 a.m., limiting what she was hoping to get. She left West Hollywood at 2:30 a.m. I know this to be true because she called every three minutes for directions, and this was the third time
she‘d been to my place, the first time she had her driver escort her. When she finally arrived I attempted a little foreplay, but she made it obvious that she wasn‘t looking for any foreplay, so I lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties, bent her over, slammed her into my bookshelf and proceeded to pound her for as long and hard as I possibly could, while she fixed her orgasmic gaze on the binding of a Diane Arbus photo book. We fucked in that position for about fifteen-to-twenty minutes. Then she flipped down on the bed, and I picnicked on her basket, pummeling it into a pulsating pomegranate. I flagrantly finger-fucked her gushing gspot till she deliriously deliquesced, striking me in the face, so I lavishly licked and salaciously sucked her ass and tits and barbarously bit her lower back, inner thighs, hips and neck. Then she rabidly rode my rod, as I rallied her to fuck me the way she needed to get fucked – with a long, hard grind and then I started to blow. She jumped off my swelling cock that was sputtering on her tits and face, diving down to 8