It was deciduous, the tree we had sex
against. The tree’s rough, fallow skin
scratched her back. She wanted more
and more. I grind my cock into her as she
recites a poem by Thomas Hardy taking
in the scene where only she can conceive.
It was deciduous, the tree we had sex
against. The tree’s rough, fallow skin
scratched her back. She wanted more
and more. I grind my cock into her as she
recites a poem by Thomas Hardy taking
in the scene where only she can conceive.