"I paused, thinking for a long moment before continuing"And the more I write, the less I seem to find anything in it. The readers become rare and gone... my stories get more and more different, standing from the crowd just for being unlike the others. Maybe there's a reader enjoying them, and I always think of this guy. I picture him, reading alone in a dark Saturday afternoon, enjoying the quietness of his home. But what's the point? The sequence of stories? I can invent hundreds of them,. It had a tiny little clit, barely visible, and her labia looked like the lips of an angel. They even seemed to be smiling at me. I couldn't help but smile back like a silly ass. Then I went to work with my teaching job. I licked that clit till it stuck out almost an inch, then I licked those labia until they looked like they wanted to squeal in protest, then I sucked until I felt a huge cum about to burst from her cunt, and she squirted all over my face. I bet she didn't know she was a. More

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