e mërkurë, 15 gusht 2007

in memory

I forced my tongue into her asshole with growing fervor, and Margaret stopped her smart-ass comments almost immediately. My thumb worked her clit while I fucked her pussy with my fingers, and I pushed her forward so I could more effectively fuck her ass with my tongue. The taste was more intense than I'd ever experienced, but something about it made my cock incredibly hard.

I could tell she was close already; I worked her clit and pussy faster as I drove my tongue deep into her. If she was worried about other discovering us, she wasn't showing it. Her moans rose in pitch and soon she was pushing back onto me, fucking herself onto my hand and tongue as I pinched her nipples.

Instinctively, I was grinding my hips and rubbing my cock against the front of my own pants. For the first time I wished they were tighter, because I was getting close myself.

"I'm going to come," I breathed and I fucked her faster, licking deeper into her ass in long slow thrusts between circular swirls around her entrance. I felt her pussy contracting around my fingers, and the tremors reached her asshole an instant later.

well there I was in awe, I couldn't believe that I was actual fucking with the dead body of Margaret Avison (1918-2007). Where in the past I just fucked with the work or name or good reputation (pretending that we were friends, I do that a lot) of a dead poet, here I was actual getting the goodies.

I truly am rob mclennan the rightful Ontario Representative For The League Of Canadian Poet.

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