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I should write about my sex life more; it's really fucking hot. | Cara Sutra
His cock tip at my hand-fucked, stretched entrance, my ankles hooked over his shoulders as we both love, and he's not even entering me. Just making sure he's in the right place, right by my wetness. He's looking right at me and I'm looking into his eyes, turned on and ready and for some reason ashamed and feeling very small all at once. And the keening wail of desperate need that rises in my throat doesn't help matters. He smiles, then. His signal. Pushing into me smoothly, determinedly, HARD. All the way up. Then he stops again. My legs move to interlock my ankles over his back. My hands holding on to his big shoulders and my nails digging into his hot skin. I look up and his dark hair is framing him like a deviant halo, his eyes have changed from soft melted-chocolate brown to midnight black. Black like sin.
Cara Sutra