The pebbles and rough sand digg into my back, scratching me, bruising me. I don't care, I welcome the pain. All I care about is how good his dick feel... inside my pussy. I swear he was made for me. He whispers to me as he fucks me. "Your so tight baby. You feel so good. I love this pussy, this is my pussy." I agree and claim ownership of his dick. "You know that's your pussy baby. My dick was made for her. No other dick could fill her up and find the right spots baby." He begins groaning in. Her phone remained silent. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared, she’d have phoned a friend, someone from work even, gone out, drank too much and had a good time. But it was him. Why did being in love make her so pitiful? Needy. Emotional. Why did it make her pace around the apartment like a spare part, simultaneously loving him and hating him and constantly wanting to burst into tears? They’d talked earlier in the day. He told her he loved her like he always did and it made her. More

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