”I’d upgraded him from a small apartment in a mediocre complex to a house. He didn’t correct me. Naturally.“Do you?”“Do I what?”“Want to hook up?”I turned to face him fully. This time he was staring into my baby blues. “Maybe.”Clemson smiled and made a twirling gesture with his finger. Corky looked at me, I nodded.“Maybe is better than no.”“Sometimes.”I had him, so I turned the conversation to tactics. “I’ll finish my drink and leave. Give me 20 minutes, then come to my hotel. Room 705.”I handed him a Marriott card that the hotel didn’t know about. It had the right address, but the phone would be answered by Sarah Cunningham, another of my freelancers. She’d say, “Marriott.” Probably over-planning on my part, but I tend to do that when dealing with cockroaches.I wrote ‘Sally Fields’ and ‘705’ on the back of the card. He read it, simpered and tucked it into his shirt pocket.“Why the 20 minutes?”“I want to shower and change.”“Gotcha.”I left. I had parked out of sight of The Peanut, but. I pulled back, hanging on his neck by clasped hands, and I moaned loudly as I shot my second load of boy cream into the air between us, coating his furry belly and my smooth one. It felt nowhere near as good as that first release, but it was top five easy. I recovered to see Ryans face fading to purple, his cheeks puffed out in powerful concentration. And after a last upward thrust of his mighty meat-stick, his bulbous head popped from my hole, and I dropped to the ground as soft as he could put me down. Still in that bow-legged stance, he power-jacked his gigantic salami cock. It was usually just over six inches but it seemed so much bigger and thicker than before, engorged to capacity and then some. Then, whatever the sound of my earlier climatic grunt, he shattered it. A growl that came from his chest, so loud it scared me half to death and made me shoot a third load onto the carpet, and just as the my third orgasm crested, I watched as a stream of the most macho cream erupted.
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