Morning Hard Ride

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Ooo ... pussy ... lapping your own ... gawd ... cum from ... my ... My cunt!”This was definitely out of character for my Lily! I wasn’t complaining though. I’d often tried to get her to be more vocal during sex, especially to talk dirty, but she just couldn’t “bring herself to be that nasty” – as she said on more than one occasion. Somehow she had, and here was the proof. Here she was, grinding her pussy on my face, spouting a constant stream of dirty words and encouragement, while I sucked my own jism out of her freshly-fucked cunt. That was astonishment enough without the added shock that the whole scenario was her idea!What’s more, she was really getting off on the whole thing. Her cunt walls were squeezing regularly, pushing out more and more remains of the wad I had shot in her, giving me fresh floods of a flavor that I was quickly, strangely, beginning to appreciate.Yes, I have to admit it. I liked the flavor of my own cum! I liked it a lot, actually. I began to dig my tongue. Merry said, "We have never shared Tom nor has he ever shown any interest in another woman. In his culture, mates were not shared and most matings last for life."We walked back to our hut with one of my mates on either side of my body. Once we were far enough away for privacy, Leelee said, "You know, Tom, that you will receive offers now." She was grinning.I said, "Just help me avoid them, please. Keeping the two of you satisfied is all I can or want to do."Leelee grinned. "We know. We are just warning you that the requests will come."We went to our hut with some more kidding from my ladies before the three of us were outside again. I did get some looks for many days.We lived together quietly and happily for the next two years. I am now the father of four. The older boys were by the girls' first pregnancies. Then, Merry gave me a daughter and Leelee gave me another son. Taking care of four babies was tiring and they both decided to hold off on more children for a while. We were all.
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When she finished reading the essay, she turned to the back page and looked at the student’s name. ‘Oh, now I understand,’ she said. ‘Who wrote it?’ Ben asked. ‘I didn’t check. I figure if I don’t know the author’s name, I won’t pre-judge the paper.’ ‘This was written by Dawn Dillon,’ Evelyn replied. ‘She can do excellent work when she puts her mind to it. Which, unfortunately, isn’t that often.’ Ben felt a pang deep down inside him when he heard the name Dillon. Five years ago he had an affair with a woman named Nancy Dillon. She was married and had a daughter who, if he remembered correctly, could be a high school senior now. ‘She obviously adored her father,’ Evelyn said, unaware of Ben’s discomfiture. ‘It’s really sad.’ ‘What’s sad?’ he asked. ‘That her father’s died,’ Evelyn said. ‘He died of cancer or something about a year ago, if I remember correctly. The principal told us about it at a faculty meeting when it happened.’ Ben’s heart was pounding and he was having difficulty.

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