Mary, Queen of Squats, pt 3

That massive, glorious hunk of man lay spread-eagled upon their bed, barely enough to hold him. Good Goddess, he was a fucking god, in all the ways one could contrive to interpret that. Never did Mary feel more spindly than when she stood at the foot of their bed, where he’d flung his beefy limbs out in an exaltation of what the human body was capable of becoming. Yes, the fact of him made her feel like the diametric opposite of human development: he was tall, he was meaty, he was heavy; she was short, she was slender and sparing. It was a riot of love-making to feel his huge cock cramming inside of her (only halfway, though, because it was too easy for him to bang against her cervix, and at that point it was Game Over), nearly splitting her into two laughing halves. But what could she offer him? She couldn’t hold him down, she thought, climbing between his ankles. She could tie him down, but that only went so far. Her slender hands rested upon his rippling thighs: she could only take so much of his manhood into her mouth or her pussy, leaving so much unsatisfied.

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