Yesterday the moon was blue,
and every crazy day brought something nwe to do,
I used my magic age as if it were a wand,
and never saw the waste and emptiness beyond;
The game of love I played with arrogance and pride
and every flame I lit too quickly, quickly died;
The friends I made all seemed somehow to drift away
And only I am left on stage to end the play.
There are so many songs in me that won't be sung,
I feel the bitter taste of tears upon my tongue,
The time has come for me to pay for yesterday
When I was young. YESTERDAY (When I Was Young)~~~Glen Campbell
With his core essence of sexuality overcoming whatever sense of self-control he would have otherwise possessed, he forcibly grappled with her hair, and with his right arm, slipped his right hand under her right thigh and while doing so sensed the wetness of her oozing honeypot---in a way that had left a moistened streak along his forearm betraying a glistening patch of wetness, to where his right hand found the delightful female specimen's strong and sturdy left upper thigh, and placed an unforgiving grip onto it where with a forwarding leveraged heave, was able to husk this delight over on her front side so that her bountiful breast were now spread beyond the sides of her torso giving a glimpse of how the bounty of her womanhood overflowed.
Show me no mercy. Take me with hot raw lust. Show me who is in charge and who owns this body
But even more pleasing to the sight of this lion, looking to put purpose in his pride, whose core essence was now being taken to an even more heightened level of intensity, was recognizing the sexual pleasure-potential of penetrating the anal opening which was now being subtly suggested by the pillowy mounds that enticingly defined a buttocks that begged to have the delights of its fruits known, as if picking and chewing into the apple from the tree of knowledge. The thought racing through this hunter's mind---was the act of penetration; the thrusts, and the rapid repetitions of the poundings. Such preoccupations had his engorged man-tool already oozing with a froth.
Without any kind of announcement of his intent, with nothing more than the frothing which was sitting at the tip of his man-tool, this Satyr-bull's instinct had him mounting his anxious but willing essence-of-pleasure, and with the determination of a well-placed ram-rod, drove his engorged jack-hammer into her wanton anal opening. The sensations, for the both of these two willing sexual adventurers, were to realize such heightened levels that were never heretofore realized. For the willing submissive femme, it went in so hard, thick, and deep, that as she screamed, every muscle in her body seized; spastic, and tightened. The willing submissive's buttocks, besides lifting the Satyr-bull an additional inch or two from the sleigh-bed mattress, actually presented more muscle-toned flesh to wrap itself around his now fully extended manhood. Extension that he heretofore was not aware of; was now evident. Her eyes, immediately bulging from her sockets as she was emitting these deep ominous and Inquisition-torture-chamber throated screams, had the lids of her eyes now closing and was mentally trying to get her psyche into some kind of sanctuary; some kind of retreat---knowing that this Dominant would just continue to probe, thrust, and pound this source of core-essence-pleasure until climactic ecstasy was realized.
He on the other hand, was still trying to come to terms with the multiple levels of sensations that he had derived---from his first thrust. His manhood was pulsating. Every nerve-ending that was exposed during that first thrust in,was now having more nerve-endings screaming with delight, as a now thicker manhood was about to be drawn back out with the expressed intent to immediately send this pleasure seeker back into the anal opening that he now knew was going to be even more exhilarating than the previous pile-drive. As he sent his man-tool in, and then back out, again, and again, while he heaved---and he moaned at the near convulsiveness of the sensations, his submissive princess was screaming, moaning, and clutching at the bedsheets with each deepening and excruciatingly painful thrust, wondering if this madness; his man-tool---would ever cease.
Work In Progress...
