"Why do you like that best?" Because then I have no responsibility. I am a machine then, and nothing else, and so long as I work, nothing more is required of me." Is it possible," said Monte Cristo to himself, "that I can have met with a man that has no ambition? That would spoil my plans." Sir," said the gardener, glancing at the sun-dial, "the ten minutes are almost up; I must return to my post. Will you go up with me?" I follow you." Monte Cristo entered the tower, which was divided into three stories. The tower contained implements, such as spades, rakes, watering-pots, hung against the wall; this was all the furniture. The second was the man's conventional abode, or rather sleeping-place; it contained a few poor articles of household furniture--a bed, a table, two chairs, a stone pitcher--and some dry herbs, hung up to the ceiling, which the count recognized as sweet pease, and of which the good man was preserving the seeds; he had labelled them with as much care as if he had. You, with more disdain for those around us, would run your hand across my thigh and up the length of my cock as we stood and looked through knock-off t-shirts three for £5... At that point, you won and we hastily headed to my flat. As always, the foreplay was long and selfless. Our tongues tracing over each other's skin, our fingers and hands teasing and twisting the flesh we knew caused a reaction. Our words dirty and uncompromising. Your taut nipples against my lips. My fingers exploring your hungry holes. The slow pulse of my cock nestled against your puddling cunt as we kissed, biting and sucking each other’s lips. I hadn't let you come yet though. Every time you came close, I pulled away from your glistening, wanton centre and let you suck my cock, my fingertips keeping you on the edge between pleasure and frustration. You begged me to fuck you. To hit it hard from behind. You wanted to feel every inch of my girth fill you and my hips crash against your arse. How could I.
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