But Carson didn’t care. Carson didn’t care about anything other than Karen Foley. Everything about her was perfect, as though Carson himself had ...een in the workshop when God had set about choosing the parts which would make up Karen’s perfection. It wasn’t that she was perfect in a Playboy centrefold sense; it was just that she was perfect for Carson. Her laugh was more infectious than measles; her smile more warming than nuclear piles. Carson’s thoughts and dreams had been infiltrated to. I moan because it hurts, but also because it makes me leak even more juice from between my legs. Then he moves up, sits on my chest, and thrusts his dick into my face. “See if you like the taste of your cunt, since you’re such a whore now. Swallow my cock and see how you taste!” I can’t guide his dick into my mouth since my hands are cuffed above me, so I grope with my tongue, trying to get a hold of his purple head. He leans forward, shoves his dick into my throat, and pinches my nipples hard. More

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