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He rubs and I whimper. He has me close, but is holding back. I decide to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. I reach out and grasp his cock. He pulses and thickens in my hand, and it’s my turn to grin. His eyes are shut, the look on his face a cross between pleasure and pure torture. I giggle a little. His eyes snap open, and now he looks pissed and amused. I figure he has thoughts of retribution on his mind, but I’ve been stroking him, and judging by his ragged breath and the sweat on his forehead, I think he’s as close to cumming as I am. I smile triumphantly. I tug on his dick and guide him to my pussy. He puts up little resistance, probably because I have such a firm grip on him. He looks like he is about to protest, but I wrap my legs around his waist and thrust my hips up, taking all of him into me at once. We both let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. The power struggle between us ceases for the moment, as we take a moment to appreciate the joining of our bodies. I. I’m trying to introduce her to it the right way. My mom taught me how to make this tasty little dish but I haven’t made it in so long. Let’s see if I remember the damn recipe. I’ve got five slices of bacon. Two cups of chopped onion. Two cups of water. Two teaspoons of salt. Two tablespoons of butter. Three ten-ounce cans of minced clams. Oh, and let’s not forget the Black pepper neatly ground to taste. Yeah, I don’t think I forgot anything. I take a little bit with the spoon just to taste it. It tastes okay but could be better. Nothing but the best for my lady, you know? Yep, I’m going to redo it. I feed Abdul his third clam chowder for the day. All of my mother unsuccessful culinary attempts ended up in the Doberman’s belly. Do over. Ugh. I smile to myself. This is definitely a labor of love. I finally get the New England Clam Chowder right. And not a moment too soon. I get a text message from my Fathiyah on my Blackberry. She’s coming home in twenty minutes. Oh, shoot. I rush.
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