My chin was tucked between my tits, the skin of my stomach folded and overlapped like a towel. But he wasn’t knocking, he was pounding. Maybe one of us had to admit defeat and give up. I don’t need to know a man to look at him like that. But I can’t help him. I was lying face down on my bed, one knee pulled up to my stomach, my pearly blue, sheer nightie and my cotton thong was stripped to my bare hips. I sat up in bed, stood up on my knees, reached out my hands and palmed his bobbing, half-hard baton. Or I could stop him, take his battering ram from his hand and lead him through the open door already dedicated to him. “uh-huh, so good daddy…” I whispered, without taking my excited eyes off the point of penetration. The way he made love, which had seemed interesting to me at first, was now hurting me. Pushing his nose to my anus, burying his mouth at my thigh gap. Slap…… slap…… slap…
At some point, I stopped counting and just watched as the salami, which he held tightly by the bottom, turned like a catapult mechanism, punishing my rose garden. He was happy to be able to get hard-on again. But he stood up.
