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He gave a thrust against my ass and I let out a yelp as he found a new nerve. It didn’t matter anyway because once I had taken his whole length, there was no stopping John. He pumped away at my ass stretching my hole and probing the depths. Occasionally he would catch my prostate and a feeling would shoot towards my cock which would twitch every time. My ass felt so full, I always thought it would hurt but these guys had taken their time and they knew what they were doing. I wondered how many guys they must have ‘broken in’ before they perfected it. Whilst John was treating my ass so well, Sam was picking up the pace as well. “I knew this bitch wanted to be spit roasted John” he said excitedly. “You picked well my friend”I wanted to nod in agreement with them. Despite this being forced on me I was enjoying it. The feeling of helplessness and two hard cocks in me was bringing me into a frenzy. Sam pulled his cock out just enough for me to speak. “I want your cum” I pleaded. Sam looked. It was still pretty cool, but I could feel the warm morning sun hit my skin.Making my way through the neighborhood, my regular route, I felt as if I could go on forever. I loved this new sensation of my cock and balls swinging in between my legs. It’s an odd sensation and weight that I’ve come to find most pleasant. Running along my usual route entails running past Katrina’s house. God, I wondered what exactly she was dreaming and how she must feel right now. Focusing on clearing my mind, I continued my run as I made my way around the neighborhood. After a few loops and a couple of miles later, I started heading back. My wife should be getting ready to leave here soon. As I made my way into the front door, I could smell breakfast escape the house. God, it smelled good. Walking into the kitchen, there she was, in one of my favorite tight dark blue blouses she normally saves for special occasions. The matching short skirt and 3-inch heels put her over the top. “What’s the occasion?” I.
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Apparently. At least I haven’t yet. In my dream, I walk away from it all and towards the mountains where I know she’s waiting. The camp gives way and the fires dim and the gravel turns to sand and the sky to white hot sun and I’m half a world away, killing leather-skinned crones over a puddle that doesn’t come up to my knees and somehow I can still smell the sea. This place is a sea, or at least it used to be. I see the empty shells, embedded in the rocks that jut from the sand like broken teeth, bleached white and wind-withered. There are thousands of them, tiny and tenacious and they look at me with accusation. It’s not my fault. It’s never my fault, is it? The oracles are dead, the puddle ruined red. The strands of it float like hair and shine in the sun like flames. – – – I woke before dawn, though not by choice. There was a boot in my side, and more on the floor, though they scattered when I spun groggily to my feet, whipping my sword out and around like a kid with a willow.

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