Texas

Woah. That's not going into me. No way. Longer than a pole vault pole, I'd rather be impaled by a trombone. You step away, you. Nasty.

Eight inches of wonderment, and every single one a pleasure, like climbing a ladder to fulfillment. Feel. Feel. I have one talent, and it is ecstasy. For you.

Goddamn it, my cervix can't take it anymore. Stop humping. Stop pumping. Take it slow(ly).

Do that again, that thing you just did.

This?

Yes, that!

Ow!

What's the matter?

Stop stabbing me with your cock, asshole.

Was I?

You were.

Sorry. How's this?

Engh.

This?

Ugnuh.

Lie down on your side.

Okay.

Is it better?

Ye...no.

This way?

Uh.

Now?

I can't do it. I can't.

Okay. No prob. What's for breakfast tomorrow, by the way?

Fuck off.

You don't mean that.