He was not making love to me, he was fucking a whore and demanding value for every single second he was spending doing it too. The thought of being a ...hore, the reality of being fucked like one had always been a huge turn on for me. I moaned and cried as I met his every thrust and my head whipped from side to side. I was at the very edge of the precipice, and from the urgency of his groans he wasn’t far behind either. “You like it when I fuck you like a whore don’t you?” he asked his voice. All of the girls at work had been good friends to me, but this was the first time since my divorce that I could say that I felt like I was in a warm home with a person who cared for me. I had been missing that human touch. Trying to be Mr. Macho and all, toughing out the divorce, but the stress had obviously taken its toll on me, and now, almost a year later it was catching up.At the train station on the way home I saw an old friend. Tony, one of my old drinking buddies from the firm. He. More

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