"Oh god! Thats it. Fist my cunt you fucker. Get it right up me. Oh god. Do it. Fuck me!" She went babbling on as again she shook and trembled through...another orgasm. I hadn't curled my fingers inside her sloppy cunt and I estimated that from the part of my wrist where it disappeared inside her to my finger tip must have been twelve inches. About the length of a wine bottle! I pulled one from the box. I brought it up to her heaving cunt and rubbed it around picking up lubrication of her juices. Although The Gift Shoppe was not open on Sundays, it still seemed to Timothy that he spent every day, all day, from sunup to sundown, closed up inside. For a man accustomed to being outside in the wind, rain, snow, and sunshine, he disliked the closed feeling inside the store. Every morning, when he unlocked the front door, he left the door open and went to the back room to prop the service door open, just to get a partial exchange of the air inside the small storefront. That simple routine. More

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