Instead, she was honest, “I need to know I’m not broken.”“You aren’t,” he whispered, hovering above her. His hand was gentle yet insistent...upon her thigh. Spreading her, so he could slide in even closer. The warm grin on his face became mischievous as the head of his shaft teased her, “But you might be when I am done with you.”There was a brief moment of utter terror as she waited for him to enter her. A deep-seated fear that she would never enjoy this again. That he would hurt her, just as. My friend turned to me and giggled behind her hand. God was this embarrassing.I had to confirm, "Five hundred right Gory?"He grunted yet again, it seems to be his prime form of communication.Let me explain just what Gory looked like - probably in his middle forties, older than my dad, two hundred fifty pounds and over six feet tall with greasy brown hair that was tied in a tiny knot behind his head. Not just that but he wore this tight faded Harley Davidson shirt and well-worn jeans.Combine. More

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