I wrote historical Romances after all. Julie and I had walked the town of Beaufort after lunch, and the more we moved away from the waterfront, the mo...e we were lost in the history of old Victorian and antebellum mansions on quiet streets lined with old oaks dripping in Spanish moss. This was a town of my dreams, and from the first night in Hilton Head, Beaufort was what I dreamed about. In particular, I dreamed of a specific massive southern mansion we’d seen on Hamilton Street. As Julie and I. The kitchen door gives an audible click as I close it behind me and you turn, marmalade in hand, and smile at me in that way that I love. “Morning, subbie,” you say as you move to kiss my cheek. You always do that in the mornings and I love it. I return the gesture with a croaky rasp and your face wrinkles in concern. As you put down the marmalade and move towards me I step to the side and make my way to the table. Sitting at my place I rest one elbow on the table and let my aching head fall on. I relaxed even more and leaned forward because I so wanted to feel two guys in me at once.After a little time and effort he was in. I stopped riding the guy below and they both took to thrusting themselves into me. I could feel my hole being stretched in ways it had never been stretched before.I thought this was as good a feeling as it gets until they started pumping into me alternately, and not at once.What an amazing feeling. Not only was the friction against my hole and insides constant, but. The evidence of betrayal, in whatever form, reaches within to the very foundations of one's self- respect, sundering them, and leaves a blinding, obsessive pain in its wake. One becomes utterly convinced that nobody, anywhere, at any time, has ever suffered such exquisite agony.This was to be my experience on this particular October afternoon. I'd put in a truly heroic effort to complete the project entrusted to me before the deadline and my boss had appreciated it, giving me a wide smile and.
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