The blows weren’t hard, but enough, so he understood she was in control. A creaking of old wood greeted his ears, familiar and comforting, as he walked on the boards of the old wooden covered bridge. Carefully, he placed the garbage in the dumpsters in the back and stared at the overcast clouds. She gazed over her shoulder, with her white teeth bright in the dark, an evil grin on her face. Twelve mournful clangs intoned the midnight hour. The blows weren’t hard, but enough, so he understood she was in control. Tanking two steps at a time, he ran up the stairs to the booth and gathered his books, placing them in the leather satchel. So easy with losers like you. Tensing up, he thought to roll over and spring on her. The satchel was called a soft briefcase, but he thought the thing appeared to others like a purse—which he hated. “Eat that fucking cum out of me, you worthless cracker fag.”
The man did as instructed in fear and lust until he felt her hips bucking into his face, and a flood of vaginal fluid and his cum gushed across his face.
