I called one afternoon. Anal sex “Oooohhh,” I moaned softly. “Of course, now stop talking and ravish me,” she invited as she lofted her robe over her head and sat in her corsets which caused her mounds to thrust up provocatively. She was a vision in a crisp white uniform, though in a moment her skirt slipped down and her neatly shaved quim was revealed in all its glory. “Be my whore and I shall say nothing of your attempt to kill me,” I suggested. I returned to my home, somewhat tentatively in case I had sold it and forgotten. “Ohhhh!” she squealed as she drained my member, “Thank the lord I thought I would have to wed that oaf Bunty Sutherland, he is Forty years old if a day and fatter round than he is tall!”
“An interminable bore and a cheat at cards,” I opined, “And a malodorous drunkard.” I laughed, “I suppose I should be flattered that you prefer me.”
“Do not flatter yourself,” she opined, “I meant to slice off your member at the root but when it swelled.”
“Yes?” I replied.
