"For the baby," another
{100}. Boulevard St Denis, Paris:
She was a fat, unscarred African I'd cased as the best available on my
reconnaissance. She led me from her doorway through an unlighted archway into a courtyard filled with broken stone, then up the stairs: crumbling stone stairtreads, flaking tricolor layers of blue, red, white paint, exposed wires: all lit by yellow cage lights dangling as on a construction site, though no construction was evident: then into her room, neatly painted blue, with a polished floor, a wooden dresser, a mirror, shopping bags, and the bed.
And I did come twice, surprising myself, though not her: With her rump as a solid foundation, and the knowing tilt of her pelvis, I pounded my way to a come between her fat black thighs, looking down and seeing her creased belly shake: Her bushy motte hid a platform of flesh and bone I could slam against, slinging myself into the juiciness under her pubic bone.
{170}
>> posted by Anonymous
• 11/07/2003 09:07:00 AM
•
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