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Her passion and hunger exploded across my senses, and I whimpered, my hands tangling in her sweatshirt. Her answering groan vibrated through me, tightening my nipples and sending goose bumps racing across my skin. I melted into her, my hands pushing the cap from her head so that my fingers could sink into the silky black mane of her hair.I fell into the kiss, swept away by the lush carnality of it. A sob escaped me. She rubbed the tip of her nose against me, her hands sliding reverently along. There she was laying on her back, All of her clothes piled on the floor and her left leg straight out hanging over the arm of the couch, Her right foot against her left knee with her right leg folded wide open, Her hairy p**** spread wide open as she rubbed her c*** softly, Her wet, pink p**** lips showing through the hair as she rubbed, She had her surprisingly firm looking right t** in her left hand pinching and pulling her nipple pale pink nipple, Her left nipple was rock hard and the size. It was all fake, the blood, the conflict, the death, the life, it was all pretend. Yet it was too violent. I had the last laugh though, because the next day on Sunday morning, while standing outside of church, I’d overhear my Dad and his friends recounting in great detail last night’s adventures of Marshall Dillon, while smoking their last cigarette before mass. Standing among the grown men wearing their Sunday best, who towered above my nine year old frame, inhaling the cigarette smoke, I. Spit and precum filled my mouth washing thick white rings of saliva up and down his rod. I could feel him growing in my mouth as I continued to wrap my tongue around his cock. Dropping to the floor went his video gaming controller crashing as I removed his jeans entirely. Matt stood up and tossed me into the couch face down with my ass up. He began reaching up my skirt and rubbing my thick cock. Pulling my pink panties aside driving his tongue into my ass. Soaking my whole dripping wet with his.
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