That's right, I make no bones about what I am -- The Fist Fuck Queen of the Big Apple. The closer to the core of my bowels, the riper I become! I can ...emember when I lost my anal cherry to a fist so vividly that it seems as if it happened moments ago, though in actuality, it's been almost a year. I started going out with Brad, and I knew from the moment we laid eyes on one another that the only thing on his mind was fucking me. He thought he was hot shit, a big stud. The arrogant bastard even. He watches me move about the room touching a buste here, a chair back there. I move through the next doorway into the bedroom and stop dead in my tracks as my eyes come to rest on the bed. My heart in my throat, I recognize his attaché case, lying open on the bed. I recognize the restraints resting inside it. The red silken cords he says look so beautiful against my white skin…Casually he moves past me and begins the process of attaching the cords to the bed. I am trembling so badly I'm afraid. Halfheartedly, Karl unpegged himself and lowered his knees to the mat. Olivia dropped her hips, realigned and reamed onto his slick stiffness. More pleasurable thrusting followed with shorter strokes matching the reduced freedom of movement. Karl held her fast against his groin as he lowered his ass to heels. Olivia stayed locked on. Now she combined hip rolls, hip rocks, strokes and vaginal clamping in random actions that scraped Karl’s shaft and knob over her G-spot and every other spot in. She talked to God for several minutes and ended her prayer with an Our Father. "Does he ever answer you Lucy?" A deep chilling disconnected voice asked. Lucy quickly jumped to her feet and spun around knocking the wooden Christ off it's pedestal. She fearfully backed herself into the corner and stared in shock at the large dark mass materializing before her. She tried to speak but her vocal cords would not cooperate. "You should pick him up. Wouldn't want to make him angry would we?" Lucy.
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