The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 7 (Part 17)

I was not, could not count the strokes, only ride my leather pommel, lashed fore and aft by harsh taskmasters. Soaring on the slick surface, I slobbered his sausage and shook my hips like a can-can dancer. Truly I was wanton: I loved every bit of it. I protested when he withdrew from my mouth. “No! I want it all!” Like a petulant child denied her dolly, I flapped my tongue and panted for his cock to return. “There is someplace else I wish to enter, Ruby, and your present inflamed state will ease my passage.” We were now alone.

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