She'd resisted."But honey, I'm your ... what do they call it ... muse. Yes! You've always said I was your muse! I've always been here before, when you...were writing a book." I thought I didn't tell you I was an author," he said.She blinked. "You didn't tell me you were a best SELLING author," she corrected him. "You just said you wrote for journals of some kind." And I needed a muse for that?" He looked skeptical."Oh all RIGHT!" she snapped. "I'll just go check on our wedding rings. What's your. Up until now, except for the orgasm, Erica had been very composed. I recalled that she had absorbed the strapping last week without sound, so I assumed that she must be stoic by nature. But as I began to pound her pussy in earnest, she began vocalizing her pleasure; alternating between mantras of “Oh god, oh god!” and “Harder, harder! That’s it!” Assuming that a naïve virgin couldn’t possibly be on the pill, when my balls told me that they were ready to deliver their payload, I pulled out and. More

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