“Aaaaaahhhhhhheeeeeuuuurrrggggghhhhh,” she uttered in a tone of weary finality, heaving herself off the long, veiny schlong and placing it back on its docking station.
His knob fired off like a mortar, though without the airy thonk. The load flew in a high arc and descended at great speed. It did not land on Downing Street, though, and where it did land, there was no discernible damage other than a little corrosion to the gnome’s already-dowdy paintwork.
“Uuuuuuurrrrreeeeeaaarrrrggghhhh,” he sighed rather deliberately, stroking off a ribbon of silk onto her upturned rump, his gold tooth glinting off the sun.
The man informed him that yes, she was gorgeous, even in the morning with no makeup, and yes, she was a terrific shag, but that, also, her bin was overflowing with heavily soiled toilet paper, most of the pieces of which appeared to have been used, turned over or re-folded, and used again, and again, and again, way past the point where the hands must have become soiled too. Also, he admitted that he had merely deduced, rather than discovered, that she was a terrific shag. Also, by ‘bin’, he meant her stomach.
Obviously she felt a little guilty about getting Emma to lock up the shop again, but she had to address her own protein deficiency in the only way she knew how – licking and swallowing spermatazoa as it exuded from the opening of a pulsating wanger.
He was having a great time and she was really biffed off about it.
He stuffed both his wanger and his balls into her mouth at once. Far from complaining, she tried to digest them. This attempt was met with partial success. His wanger and balls survived, but he left her a little something to keep her going until dinnertime (his spunky load).