His hair was black and cut fashionably short with just the barest hint of a cowlick, irrepressible and boyish and utterly sexy.But he wasn't cleaned u.... He was slouching, bent over the bar on his elbows. Wearing a rumpled gray suit, his shirt no longer starched and white, a striped tie hanging around his neck like a noose. His eyes were bright, the rye hadn't clouded them so completely yet, but they burned cold with precious little life. He was dying, this handsome man, right before my eyes.I. Solid and permanent like their union. There was nothing for Aranel’s hands to grasp other than the base of her own stretched nipples. Her feet would never touch the ground again, but her butt eventually found a wet seat in the combined precum-smeared cocks that had erected under her. She never thought she’d be so relieved to sit on a Sex Demon’s cocks. What was it her mother had said? Something about finding small joys in an arranged marriage?“No, no, no....” Small joys are fleeting. A seat is. More

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