Either way, he always finishes inside me, leaving a sticky mess dripping down the back of my legs.On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I meet him at the base of...the stairs for a morning face fuck. These vary a lot. Some days, he leaves my lips bruised and my throat raw as he nearly chokes me. Others, he merely stands still and lets me do all the sucking and swallowing. Most days, it is somewhere in between. Always, he finishes by holding the back of my head, pushing his cock in until his balls hit my. As we pulled out of the station, I hopped up on my seat, looked toward the back of the bus, trying to spot her. She was sitting alone, all the way in the back, looking right at me. I plopped back down in my seat and considered joining her. She sure had looked sad. Though no where on the scale of her’s, my own father could be an ass too; we had that in common and maybe we could talk about that. I fidgeted and squirmed in indecision. After several minutes, I was no closer to convincing myself. However, knowing thatsuch misery would at least demonstrate the logical reaction of a soundmind prevented that thought from being all that comforting.Ian had regretted his behaviour the moment he'd arrived back home. Thesex had consumed his anger and frustration, and after feeling empty onthe walk back, guilt had filled that emotional void, and hit him hard.He'd never really had an explosion of anger like that where he'd beenable to carry out the dark thoughts in his head, and so the shame. “That puts you in the front row to watch the whole show.”“Sweet. You’re taking us somewhere nicer than Hannibal’s though,” she teased me. “Not that it was terrible, but ladies like something other than steak.”“Fair enough. Florentine’s work for you for a first date?” I suggested, feeling better. Florentine’s was a classier restaurant that frequently saw a celebrity or two. The last time I’d been there with Barb, we’d seen Scarlett Johansson having dinner with that kid that was famous for the.
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