“Is he okay?” I chuckled. “Skin’s a bit tender. You monster. Show me some mercy sometimes.” “As I remember it, you didn’t protest at all...” “No I did not.” “No, I did not,” I said. “I had my mouth full.” She laughed. She had that clear mountain stream quality to her laugh. It danced in my chest. “Put that down.” She gestured at my cup. “Come here.” She reclined on the bed, smiled, opened her legs and held her breasts. “Come here, I’m not done with you yet.” A woman in charge of her wants is a. This is a recounting of a man from my past who helped mold me into what I am. I can't say whether I am grateful for the man he was but I can see the positive in what I learned in my time with him.He was a backwoods, small-town, drunk, with a standard sized cock, and a foul mouth-one never shy to treat you like the slut he saw you as. I can't say we ever cared about each other as people in a relationship would but we were there for each other's urges as much as two unattached persons can be. . More

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