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Twenty-six-year-old Morgan is currently in a “toxic situationship,” and if selected to be a surrogate, she needs to have a C-section because she wants her vagina to remain high and tight.
Spreadsheets are my thing. My dopamine high. When I put together a spreadsheet and see everything laid out all pretty and perfect...it’s better than sex.
Wyatt took off to nearly ten minutes ago...to jack off. To rattle the snake. To wrestle the rooster. To massage the one-eyed ostrich. Or my personal favorite...make the bald man cry. I’m thinking Mountain Man wouldn’t love any of those terms. He’s far too...manly.
With one horrifying quiver, I quickly depress the plunger like I’m a fucking Hostess cupcake and recoil as the warm liquid fills my center. A
my body just wants a hug from him. But like...the vagina kind of hug. I want his mountain-rain scent all over me.
“Oh gosh, I got so distracted by all this hard wood that I forgot I grabbed this.”
used to be a solid D-cup, but whatever is happening to my chesticles now is most definitely not fitting in my D-cup bras. I hold my hand to the side of my mouth and use my best flight attendant voice as I add, “Ladies, please return to your assigned seats.”
swear it was crafted out of the foreskin of newborn babies it’s so comfortable. Not that foreskin is comfortable. I wouldn’t know, I guess. But I venture to bet it’s soft. Adult penis skin is crazy soft. At least what I remember of it. It’s been a while since I’ve touched a penis.
“Sex is Mother Nature’s cough medicine,” Calder says with a dopey smile. “You got a little tickle in the back of your throat? A good bang session will make that pain disappear, guaranteed.”
“Maybe it’s not a friend she needs. Maybe she needs a good dickin’ just as bad as you because, if I’m not mistaken, our Dark Night was the last time you got your dick wet.”
