A STRETCHING EXERCISE

 

Anthony Beal

 

On all fours, he was dominant.  Isis reached between his beefy thighs to squeeze his dangling fruit.  Then her ostrich feather twirled, nailing him in that sensitive spot just behind the balls.  That always broke him.  His twitching, kicked-puppy whine earned him three riding crop lashes across the asscheeks.

 

Isis massaged baby oil into the wrist-thick phallus jutting from her pelvis, adjusted the straps and buckles fastening it onto her.  Did anything speak more eloquently of a man’s love for his woman than his hips rolling in acceptance of her frenzied rutting and fingernail welts striping his shoulders?  On all fours, he gave Isis his best.  Kneeling at his back, she’d do the same for him.

 

Isis nestled the neoprene dildo against his anal aperture and leaned forward.  He whimpered expertly, a veteran of this game.  Gradually, lovingly, Isis closed the thirteen inches between her body and his. 

 

 

 

 

This horror erotica writer with aged tequila for blood devotes his scribblings as well as his leisure time to varying degrees of libertinage, and is believed to exist in more than one universe.  His passions include spicy foods, live music, collecting skulls, and achieving states of spiritual transcendence through inebriation.  Between periods of indulgence in the aforementioned and occasional spates of writing, he hangs his hat at http://www.theofficialanthonybeal.com.