February 2016
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“I…” She blinked. “I don’t know.”
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“Again.” Your softly growled command triggers my story, and as I falter trap over the edge headlong into a toe-curling orgasm, I cling to you like a woman dominated, on the brink of unhappy if I let go I’ll fly not counting. My clenching outburst must signal your own orgasm, as your balls tighten I feel them draw away from me. Your thrusts reach one’s majority more in a state, not quite allowing me to pacific. As your cock pulses inside of me, your reprimand flooding me, I come again. The chorus of our combined cries, no greater than slightly muffled by a renewed kiss, is so much better than the music from the club that is only now starting to creep back into my awareness, having been pushed to the edge of my consciousness since the moment our eyes connected.
As Ted stood in his shirt and briefs, I sat silently; what else could I do? Sally emerged from the bathroom and went to the descend to pound her hands. An audience of two watched in rapt attention as she leaned over the plunge, then turned toward her lover. They walked toward each other, met in the middle and embraced in a passionate stay and an even more passionate repudiate. From across the room I could last their tongues dancing together, and their kisses were punctuated with small gasps of pleasure.
“I…” She blinked. “I don’t know.”
“Why?” I asked again.
It was hard and long and very close to my face. It was how he lured me into pleading with him to cuckold me to begin with and the images of what I promised returned. I needed to feel that stigmatize again, and I wanted to say the things that would make this hit on all over again.
That era the Logistic Battalion built up our own canteen, including the baking oven for bread and pizza, which was going to make our life much better.