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Archer was fifty-three, exactly thirty years older than me, and that age gap turned me on a whole damn lot.
One of those monster porn videos where a large creature with a huge cock fucked a human.
“Instead of just thinking about my dick deep inside of you, why don’t we make it happen?”
I loved his fingers around my throat, and I loved them inside of me. Archer never ceased to amaze me with how incredibly talented he was with his hands.
We didn’t shy away from anything—especially bodily fluids. But I was surprised the first time he emptied himself while being buried inside of me, filling my asshole with his hot piss.
“That’s a good girl. It was a good choice after all not to wear panties beneath this tiny skirt. I can push my cock right into that wet, tight pussy.”
“Dirty girl. Keep those pretty eyes on me, kitten. I wanna watch all those emotions flash through them. Fuck, baby, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”
“Either that, or you join in. My kitten’s a naughty one. She won’t mind.” I didn’t come here with big expectations. But what I never ever would’ve expected was Archer sharing me with his friends.
“My naughty kitten,” he said, his voice low. “Letting my friends fuck her. God, baby, I’m so fucking lucky you’re mine.”
“That pussy is mine. No matter how many fucking times I let you come inside of her, she’ll always be mine.”
Trauma had a funny way of living inside someone. For some it was hard to shake it off, to keep on living without constantly thinking about all the pain. For others, life went on. Trauma was just a bump in the road for them.
