Midsummer Nights’ Dreams - His side
How much longer could this go on? For the third night in a row, he woke up so hard that all it would take to finish would be touch it. Damn, but she was hot! Her voice rang in his head:
Please! Please fuck me!
Her hands were so smooth, her mouth was… inviting. Man, he’d like to meet her, whoever she was, to see if she was as good as he thought she’d be. He got out of bed, went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, took a swig from the soda bottle without getting a glass. The bubbles exploded in his stomach, sending tingles through him. He made his way back to bed, thought he could smell her, the musky scent that only warm pussy can give off. He closed his eyes, saw her face, imagined her pink lips open, waiting for him to put his dick between them. He took hold of it, sliding his fingers up-and-down, like she would. Like she would, faster, faster, he could even see her gorgeous hair as it lay on his legs, feel her breath on his sac, oh, God, she was good, you’re so good, don’t stop, don’t stop, please, don’t!
As his breathing returned to normal, he grabbed a shirt off the floor to clean up. There was her voice in his head again:
There’s no need, baby; I’m an eleven. I swallow.
Her chuckle lulled him back to sleep.
