Our involvement together is more than just sex, I determine. We become transfixed by each other. The dirtiness of our play is nothing less than tender and sweet, fulfilling needs. We are not carnivores of the raw inside the apartment. Rather, we are hinged only by our sexual appetites that swirls with delight. Yet, the details of our bare game are certainly not for the weak at heart.
Parker is the first to blow his load, climaxing. His hip-thrusts end and he yanks his cock out of my sucking mouth. Sweat drips off his swinging balls and plated chest and lands on the carpet at our feet. A murmur of excitement exits his beautiful lips, and he says, “Firing, boys.” He grasps his dick with his left hand, jacks the tube of meat two consecutive times, and unloads a stream of creamy white syrup against my right cheek, the strictness of my neck, and my right earlobe.