You want sweet-talk? Or a fantasy? Who would you like me to be?" Uh... just you, I suppose. I've never really thought seriously about other women. A b...it sad, I know, but when I'm asleep and dreaming of fucking, it's still you. Sorry." Really? I'm impressed. I thought that the whole point of being a man was fantasies of dozens of women lusting after their body." Not me, ma'am. But, come to think of it, you've put your finger on the difference between dream and reality." Oh?" Lust. In my dreams,. The detail of the lines, the use of nothing but charcoal, yet telling a story in vivid colour was awe-inspiring. Janie was no art critic but they felt like truly great works of art. She went downstairs to her husband, sketches in hand and asked him where they came from. Steve looked first at the sketches, then at Janie and his face fell. ‘Darling, there’s something I need to tell you.’ ‘What is it dear?’ ‘Twenty years ago I made a promise to you that I would never again turn a woman into a. Her petite frame held up by his muscled arms beneath her knees. Her arms around his neck. She leaned her head down and bit down hard on his shoulder. Blood ran down her chin across his thick pectoral muscle. It was almost more then she could bare. Over an hour of this had yanked more orgasms from her body then it had seen in her entire life until now. Finally she felt him begin to swell and felt him yank her off him and drop her to the wooden porch below. ‘Lift your face bitch.’ He growled. Dawn was just a handful of minutes from making it’s appearance and there was a lot to accomplish with her last few hours. Slowly she pulled back the covers from her bed and braced herself for the coldness of her bare feet on the tile floor. Her crimson silk nightie did little to fight off the chill, but she found it so much more bearable than the warmer cotton alternative. Besides, this being her last night she had decided to treat herself to this small extravagance. Relief swept through her as.