Past the Bullsh*t

Past the Bullshit

By Richard Bacula

"If we could just cut through all the usual bullshit, and you'd just let me put this in you," he indicated the thick bulge in his pants. "Well, then you'd know."

"I'd know what?" She was mildly amused by the man so far, and she sipped her drink to facilitate that feeling.

He shook his head. "There's only one way to find out."

It was the wrong line, to the wrong girl, on the wrong crappy night, but somehow, less than an hour later, she was in his hotel room, on his bed, her skirt pushed up to her hips as she let him lick her into readiness.

He wasn't bad at it, although he wasn't really the best either. He was getting the job done, and the night was starting to go well for her, even if the shame of such a random hookup would sting the next day.

She slickened and swelled under his tongue, until she was ready to take him up on his offer. Then she returned the favor, taking his surprisingly bulky member between her lips. He moaned, and he hardened, forcing her mouth wider and wider as he grew more engorged.

Then he was turning her around, turning her over, pushing her skirt further up over her butt. He wanted to enter from behind, and she was fine with that. She wasn't doing this to see his face.

She felt him push and push his way inside of...