If I were any good at discerning flowers or such things I could name it for you. All I can do is describe its effect on my. It went through my nose an... straight down to my cock, awakening it from restful slumber. My eyes soon connected the scent to its source, breaking me from my frustrated reverie. The goddess had returned to sit next to me. She had pulled her long hair into a tight bun, adding a new severity to her raw sexuality. A wry smile framed the utter appreciation that flowed across my. And always wished it was her. Omg she thought I wrote the guy who writes the stories and told him about my life and where I lived... fuck it’s him! The cocks continue to pound. And cum and fuck over and over. She had no feelings in her asshole it was numb. She started thinking about what she wrote the mysterious man. She told him about the white van and a bunch of rooms to be fucked in that got worse every time. Shit I wrote my own story she thought, but who are all these men? When the fucking. More

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