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All Three Holes
ONE
“Aaaah, shit, baby…oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah…Goddamn, this pussy’s so good. I’m getting ready to bust, baby. Aaaaah, shit…oooooh, yeeeeeeah…!”
Lord God, why? I think, rolling my eyes up in my head.
The headboard slaps loud and frantic up against the wall as Roosevelt pounds away, his thick ten-inches deliciously stretching my pussy.
Too bad I won’t get a chance to enjoy it for long.
Aside from the fact that Roosevelt is grunting and growling and has kindly announced his looming release, I can tell by the swell of his dick that he’s nearing the end of his rope. I turn my head and glance over at the digital clock on the nightstand. Eight minutes in.
Oooh, this quick-nut motherfucker’s dick feels so good in my pussy.
But I’m so goddamn disgusted.
Disgusted that I can’t even enjoy the wet sounds of my pussy for much longer, the clickety-click-click noises that shamelessly turn me on, because Roosevelt will soon rob me of its hypnotic melody.
Goddamn him.
Big dick. Big loads. But, sadly, he’s a waste of a good fuck.
Yes, my man’s a Godforsaken minuteman, figuratively speaking that is. I mean. He doesn’t actually come in two pumps and a hump. But most times it feels like it.
The longest he’s been able to hold out has been twenty minutes. No. Wait. Twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds. I know, because I timed it.
Like I always do.
And, yet, he seems to think that because he has a big dick that this is acceptable. That somehow this—him pounding away for under twenty minutes—is him beating the pussy up.
No goddamn it.
Beating this pussy up is leaving me feeling sore and raw. It’s fucking me until I am babbling and slurring and tears are springing from my eyes, and I am seeing stars. It’s having my pussy weep and cry out. It’s having me walking with a limp, feeling the pounding throb of a dick days after it’s been pulled out.
Oh, my man might stroke it up and stir the juices, but he damn sure hasn’t beaten shit up in years. And I don’t know when was the last time I’ve tapped out, with him, anyway.
Hell, I do know. In the beginning of our relationship, when he used to fuck me like I stole something from him, when he’d gut this pussy and have me howling like a wounded wolf, begging him to stop. Back when he’d have me running from the dick.
Pussy sore from a long fucking, throat sore from crying out, Roosevelt used to serve me the dick like it was nobody’s business.
But now?
Mmph.
Twenty minutes of reckless, disrespectful pounding and then it’s over.
And I’m left with a soppy-wet pussy still clenching for more dick.
“Uhhh, oooooh, shit…aaah, Roosevelt, baby…this dick is so good…”
Well, shit. It is. That’s one thing I can’t lie about. The dick. Is. Goddamn. Good.
Sadly, only for a very short period of time…
“Lord, God…ooh shit, oooh, shit…uhh…please, baby, don’t!”
He’s about to gyp me of a good fuck. My pussy needs more. Goddamn him!
