If he lets me, I’ll be in it twenty-four-seven, keeping him so sore he’ll never walk straight again. “You like this?” “Yes,” he whines, trying to push back on my cock, but the grip I have on his hips prevents him from doing so. He cries out, twitching and writhing in such a beautifully distressed way. “Whaley, you’re ruinin’ me.” Good. That’s exactly what I want.
