“I don’t need protection from you, Clint. I want everything you got.” My breathy response was more metaphorical than literal. I trusted Clint. He’d drilled the importance of suiting up into our heads, and after conceiving Joey, he never went without. “I want so much of your cum in me.” I writhed below him, slicking up my own shaft as he pushed back on his calves and shined up his. He watched me without an ounce of kindness, muscles flexing, dick and big balls hanging obscenely from the torn boxer brief pouch. “I want to leak you for days.”
