With his thrusting and spurting completed, he leaned down and kissed her, whispering once again that he loved her. As well he should have, for she was... the only woman he had ever known carnally.By the time he kissed her, those sperm cells were instinctively, blindly, swimming upstream in search of that Holy Grail, that Brass Ring, the fertile egg produced monthly by Lauren's body. Like the quest for the World Cup, the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, the cap and gown of the Valedictorian, the. ”“Talking of which, it’s still fucking hard. Look at it. That’s not the cock of somebody who’s traumatised.”“I am traumatised, babe. It’s just that my dick won’t go down.”“This is an absolute nightmare. Is this really happening? Tell me it isn’t happening, Spencer. Did my mom really just walk in and catch us?”“I bet she’s as traumatised as we are.”“We’ll all have to go on The Jeremy Vile Show after this.”“We’ll laugh about it one day, babe.”“No we won’t. I won’t. I’m not coming out from under. Wankles simply stood on the doorstep, whipped his willy out, and started wanking through the fat little letter box."Oh, yes! Ooo! Ah! Ohhh... Fuck meee..." I would if you'd open the bloody door," yelled Mr. Wankles.There was a series of fizzy pops and squelches, and a delighted scream shooks the walls. Mr. Wankles felt a splatter of fairy pussy juices on his knob, and he added his spunk to the heady mix, hearing another splatter as he shot his load across Daisy's front room onto the far wall.. Like, I don’t know, a muse or something. Like I’m painting your portrait, only…”“Only being written as some kind of raving nymphomaniac.”“Yes. No. I don’t know.”Perhaps thirty seconds passed with Meghan looking like she was interrogating her own feelings. Then she said, “Do you know, I’m actually tempted.”“But?”“I’m married for one thing.”“And?”“And I assume this… sitting would be at your place.”I could see her point. A married woman visiting a man she knew to write sometimes excessively.