His Fist

finally! my muse has returned from her vacation and I’m flooded with ideas. Some new things, and the finale of the Crystal Dragon story….all things in good time, I guess. Thanks, muse! ~nilla~

His fist, in her hair, pulls her up–down–up the length of his rigid cock. She would recoil, if she could, from the intense scent of piss hiding in the curly, rough, tickly hair where her nose is buried, when his thickness is full in her throat. She can’t swallow, can’t breathe, can’t control the pace of her mouth as he uses her.

He pulls away.

His fist, one on each tit, holds her firmly against the bed, his cock seeking her other warm and wet hole. His thighs spread her legs as he spears deep. She would have arched, if she could, into that fierce thrust, glorying in it, if his fingers, biting into her tender breasts, weren’t holding her in place.

He pulls out.

His fist, gripping around his swollen shaft, pumps steadily. His fingers slide slickly on the pussy-wetted hardness. His eyes are closed, hers, open. Both heads thrown back, hers in teary want, his in joyful denial. The scent of her needy cunt rises to his nose, pushing the flood of semen from the thickness he holds inches from her, spurts across her belly, spurts up to her bruise-marked tits, spurts until there is nothing left but his gasping breath.

He lets go.

Falling onto the bed, onto her, his body rubs his seed into their skin, then rolls to lay beside her. His fist in her hair guides her mouth to the first spot of cum on his chest. Her tongue works across his flesh, down his body, settles finally on his cock.

His fist, in her hair, pulls her up–down–up the length of his rigid cock to begin the dance again.



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