Late at night, when morning has
become a distinct possibility, I am dreaming of Pisarro’s lips on mine, petals
of spongy flesh sliding across my mouth. I seem to think that this is the
extent of it – the basic teenage makeout session – but then I feel a distinct
warmth surrounding my cock. Am I fucking Pisarro?
The
edge of a tooth triggers me awake. My wife is sucking on my dick like it’s a
circus toy, performing feats of circumlocution that I never dreamed were in her
repertoire. She whips her tongue like a tentacle around the head as she works a
fist up and down the base. Charged up by weeks of inactivity, I am gone
quickly, erupting into her mouth. She swallows, licks me clean, then pulls up
beside me with a grin.
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