When we sat on the couch after dinner she asked me to put my arm around her, to warm her, she said. Afterwards, hours later, we curled in bed and talked, almost all night, the rug burns on my knees a mark of our pleasure, the yin and yang like the sweet and sour soup we shared for dinner. I want to describe for you the spectacular sex, how her moans echoed in my ears and were seared into my memory, burying my aches, how the cold and her passion made the points on her chest swell like her body was reaching out to me, how I erupted in a fit of pent-up need and desire and made rivers run, how her heart was pounding after she came, like a Valentine’s Day cartoon on a sproingy bouncy spring. But there I go again, like a man, getting into the biomechanics of it all. Sometime around two a.m. I lit the last taper candle in the apartment and put another blanket on the bed, crawling back under the covers. She rested her head against my scarred chest and ran her fingers thru the graying curly. I told her to pull her cleft open, instantly she took a cheek in either hand and opened herself to my aim her shoulders back her head raised from the bed, it was too much so I fed my tool into her mouth, then told her if she bit me I would whip her till she bled and then brand her myself! She nodded her understanding, then the leather strands swung and landed right along the waiting trench, stinging the brown star as it sought to feed itself into her Shute. Instead of screaming, her jaw worked on my tool the stifled scream gurgling round my embedded tool in a wonderful way, my revenge for mothers pain forgotten, the leather again swishing down again, then again, and a third time, the last as I leant forward, that increased my reach again whoosh the leather struck, the tips of the strands curling past where it landed before, curling inward and clattering crisply against her labia, this time there was no mistaking the scream of very real pain, the jerk of her body causing me to.
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