Tony repeated his breathless prose to himself. 'Creamy quim'! Alliteration. Shakespeare had nothing on him. Perhaps he could pause for a quick smoke, ...e wondered, glancing at his open packet of Bensons. Or should he just let his muse transport him toward towering new vistas of poetic inspiration? Dripping as it would necessarily be in plenty of cum, jizz and female ejaculate (the name of which Tony wasn't quite sure).And then the door-bell rang.Fuck! Who could that be? It was fucking nine or. "Damn it," he sighed with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "It's more fun when I tear your shirts off." The torn fabric fell to the floor as he undid his belt and pulled it free."Fun until you get your credit card bills back from buying me new clothes again," she teased, fighting desperately to keep from leaping off the couch and onto him."A small price to pay," he shot back with a soft smile, dragging his trouser's zip down. A sudden movement, and they fall to the floor as well - he stepped. More

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