In The Pitch-Black

Roughly and aggressively nice, his dick thrashes and hammers against the fortifications and barricades of my womb. I can feel his enjoyably warm and to some slight level bitter sperms smother and smear on the walls of my womb itself. This is enormously delicious and exceedingly tasty indeed. The way his semen seems to trickle and dribble on the walls of my sightless vagina...the way the very big head of his congealed penis rubs and grazes on the walls of my sex's inside...the way his thighs behind run into and collide with my buttocks, making them to sway and move back and forth and vibrate and wiggle and joggle...it all bombards and blasts away the living hell of reality out of me. I am vanished in the world of delight and ecstasy, quivering and trembling wholly in acute sugariness and sweetness. For five minutes or so, I am so nowhere to be found and sucked up and taken on in this materialism-filling orgasm that I do not even think or reason to stir or blink an eye open. I am frozen still and static with my eyes shut and sealed up. Arghhhhh! I don't even know where I am right now and what I am doing here.

Unluckily and sadly, the never-ending and sweetest orgasm of mine comes to its closing part and phase, prompting me to tour back to reality and stir and shake myself up to aliveness. Stian is still thumping his joystick with a piercing and pleasant-sounding pound and bang into me, panting out greatly and jadedly as he does so. My goodness! He doesn't ever lay down his arms to the sex pastime and exploit, does he? That is not what it seems to me.

Down my thighs and legs themselves, his semen plummets and trickles from where he had deposited and sowed it—in my very own womb that is. It slithers leisurely and at a snail's slowest pace until it makes me to shudder and judder unemotionally and frigidly. Is it standard and normal of him to have such a high and excessive tempo and pace of sperms shot out of his Willy during our fuck time? Is it?

Shit. Stian's sperm spilling out velocity and rapidity into me is certainly going to bewilder and bamboozle me. He just generates too much semen and male gamete all in all. It is too much of it; and I don't think that I can put up with it anymore. Nonetheless, he has me alter and change my positioning so as to fuck and bash me in another approach and manner. I am exhausted already. And I need some abundant time to relax and have a break. I cannot reject or snub against having sex with him any longer than we now have already. He is the master; he is at all times the overlord; and I am here to serve and slave him without any form of protestation or complaints. It is true—sex is superior and tip-top rate; but painstakingly wearing and wearisome on either hand too.

Stian has me lounge down flat on the mammoth table itself. My God! He is still going to take me from behind. And it is quite hurting and pleasurable to some great extent. Sex...sex...sex. It is what is on my mind right this moment. I need and desire and crave more sex and sex...even though I am a great lot deal bushed-in and dead beat.

All of a sudden and without warning, he is inside of me again, promptly filling and loading me with his valuable and sweetly cum and jism. My goodness! I think that I am dying. Am I truly? Faster and more faster, he pounds and sledge hammers into me, stocking up and supplying me with too much pleasure and sweetness, and making me open my mouth wide ajar in this intense darkness so as to whimper and moan out mutely. When I sob and howl out the more noisy and piercing, he crooks himself down toward me, pressing himself against my back to be precise, and he smacks and raps his powerfully-built thighs on my ass all the more powerful and stronger and ferociously fast—and I speedily enter into another immeasurable spasm of gratifying and satisfying orgasm in no time. Goodness. It is all so sugary and wearisome, isn't it? It without doubt is.

I groan and wail out piercingly the more; and he hastily lays his hand over my mouth, hushing and shushing me, making me go entirely noiseless and silent. Stian. You are a sweet fucker indeed. You are a sex providing specialist, my love. While I ponder these words, I am so perplexed and puzzled with the way that he is speedily and enthusiastically tack hammering and striking into me. My vulnerable vagina almost flakes out. There is just too much spermatic fluid and jism to flood and overfill her. Pity for her! She is moaning and sobbing along with me. And we are both liking and are passionate about this deep down our hearts. Damn us for it!

I stir my hand yet again to reach for Stian's buttock. I do not let it go once I have grabbed it. It is so baby smooth and thrilling and electrifying and exhilarating to touch and stroke. Ashhhh! Was it fashioned and formed straight in heaven for me alone or not? I think so. It is mine alone to tap and stroke; mine alone to enjoy and take pleasure in. And I am get pleasure from slapping and caressing it right this very instant. Yes, I beyond doubt am.

I burrow and mine my nails into Stian's backsides, scraping them to be exact, grazing them real good and actual sluggish—and it all feels so massively good and out-of-this-world that I do not even think that I have ever come across anything cloying and ickly like this. While he pierces and stabs his dick into my hole's furry and shaggy hole, making me weep and whine and whimper and hum sweetly as a result, filling me up with excessive enjoyment and sexual delight and bliss so that I grumble and groan out, I prod and press my nicked nails and lenient fingers on his soft and fleecy-like buns, trusting, only wishing that he will take it easy and hassle-free with me. And does he in any case? No. He doesn't at all. Damn him for it! I am so totally possessed and bedeviled with the jaw-dropping and gee-whizz way and style that he fucks and shags me up. Yeah...

Bit by bit and quietly, I slide my hand underneath myself to touch and finger my much-loved pussy that he is even now whacking and battering and decking and flogging with his honeyed, massive-sized dick. Goodness. I am sinking and drowning in excessive delight and bliss, am I not? I for sure am. And I don't want to surface and float back out to reality once more. Indubitably and hastily, I poke and stab my finger on the face of my vagina and Stian's dick itself—and I do not even for one plain second regret it. Or do I? Hell no!

Faster and more rapidly; quicker and more quickly; we persist on with our shag and hump and screw making until—at last pooped-in and dog-tired and worn-out—we both collapse and plummet down on the table underneath us and heave out a great lot deal gravely and critically. It has all been enjoyable and breathtaking and fantastic indeed. And we are ended for now, it appears.

At that peak in time, the electric lights and power and supply return back, thrilling and galvanizing me much to my shock and alarm. I glance about and see myself entirely dressed alongside Stian who is on top of me, except that we are both having the zips of our trousers gaping open and unlatched, and for your very own bit of knowledge, Stian did not touch or lay a finger on any of my two enormous and fully-sized breasts throughout the course of our crackers mood fuck up. No, he didn't!