I don't even tell her I'm about to come, I just come before I have the time to think about it. I groan into the phone, but I don't think she hears me; she's moaning loudly, almost screaming as if I was actually there, my c**k buried inside of her p***y.
I sit there, grabbing my c**k while thick ropes of c*m gush out of it, the sound of her o****m numbing my mind. This might be f*****g insane, but it doesn't make it any less good, let me tell you that. Sure, the real thing is way better…
But this beats just using my imagination, there's no question about that. And, of course, I'm pretty sure of who she's going to turn to after King William has left her in a wet mess: good Paul Caspar .
“I… I just couldn't help myself, sir,” she says, her voice a quivering mess. “I had to come. I just h
