Mary-Jane Avatar – Part 6

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Treasure CuntMutant John is naked. He has lost weight, and is more toned. I seek a scar on his chest, but the surgery on his heart was via keyhole, so there is nothing beneath the grey-black mat of hair across his broad chest.His cock, however, does sport recent injury. It is softer now but not inert. The reduced erection means that where there were many individual marks on the shaft, now there is merely a general redness. He screamed a lot, which made me chew him more. I did not draw blood, not quite anyway.I still wear my clothes, such as they are. I am warm inside them, and from time-to-time Mutant John will squeeze me so my scent gusts out. He inhales it with the same intensity I inhaled smoke from the joint.I feel solid, yet freely adrift in the summer afternoon that filters through the conservatory into the living room. My feet buzz, even as they are planted solidly on the worn carpet, which was once black but these days teeters on the edge of being grey.“Go on,” Mutant John says.He stares at me, as if I am the fix he now needs. I welcome this intense attention, which feels like sunshine. He has muted the music, to help me concentrate.I turn and look around the room.He has hidden the other four joints around the house. My job is to find them, and to accommodate Ankara escort Mutant John as I search. A clue to the nature of his accommodation is the generous lathering of lube he has applied to my pussy, mixing with what’s left of the ice block to leave me wet and slick. I wiggle my prepared opening, which seems to hum delightedly in anticipation.Mutant John’s living room has one armchair and another sofa. There’s a telly in the corner on the same scale as a Stonehenge monolith, and a lot of books on a variety of subjects, all non-fiction, although there is no overarching theme that I can make out. The room has a second-hand bookshop smell – old paper rich with history, stories not garish enough to make the headlines but no less urgent for that, and arcane knowledge.I nose through the books, although I doubt the first spliff will be hidden there. I see a book on car maintenance, a stack of music magazines, and a biography of Martin Luther King. Bending over, I reach for a small box nestling between a leather-bound tome that turns out to be the collected works of Shakespeare and another, smaller but older volume. I squint at the embossed lettering, and as I realise it’s The Book of Thoth by Aleister Crowley, Mutant John lifts my Ankara escort bayan skirt and slips his cock into me.I have been ready all morning, and the ease of penetration is almost a worry – have I been fucked so much I am slack? But no, the familiar tightening around Mutant John’s cock, the strange ache in my core, the hunger for more than any human can ever give lets me know that I’m relaxed and ready. It’s like having the real pussy I’ve always dreamed of, wet and ready and fertile.I have not moved, or even responded to the presence of a man’s hard cock inside me. I am still gazing at the Crowley volume, suddenly eager to know the great magician’s thoughts on the intricacies of the Egyptian Tarot, so I can bicker with Mutant John about it later. From these factoids, I will improvise an argument based on other things I have read, a knack for spinning narratives, and the influence of drugs.I like being fucked in this matter-of-fact way, like an animal tupped on the open plains of the small living room. I decide not to make a sound, even as Mutant John gradually eases most of the way out, tickling me inside beautifully, and then… Ohhhhhhhh… Slowly… God… slides back in again…He has not taken hold of me, and simply inserted Escort Ankara himself with the smooth efficiency of an industrial robot. I try not to make a sound, even as I flex my rose around him, but muffle a soft gulp as he pulls partly out and leaves himself stoking me just inside my opening. Keeping my breath even, I open the box between the two books.Finding the liquorish paper joint inside, I allow myself a satisfied ‘Hm’, and part straighten, so my upper body is at a ninety-degree angle to my legs. Popping the joint between my lips, I see that the box also contains the Zippo. I don’t have Mutant John’s dexterity, but I get the thing lit, then suffer a dope-induced jag of panic at the joint’s proximity to all this dry paper. My main concern is that my hair will burn off.I back onto Mutant John, but he is an immovable object and I merely achieve a deeper penetration. It stops me moving, this time with pleasure.“Stand up, Kelly.”I straighten with him still inside me. The angle is slightly awkward, but altered consciousness helps alleviate it, and the psychic pleasure of perusing a bookshelf while smoking dope and being fucked eases away such pedestrian concerns. I notice that my little skirt is only lifted at the back, so my front is still covered. Anyone looking at us would think Mutant John is simply standing very close, while not wearing anything.I think of his raw cock inside me, and the trust it represents creates another shivering rush of pleasure. There are no barriers to divide my sex from his, with only my hot interior to absorb the imminent gush.

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