She didn’t take time to answer, instead she dipped her brush immediately into the paint and prepared to attack the canvas. But she stopped short of ...he first brush stroke. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she giggled. ‘I’ve never done anything more than ‘paint-by-numbers’ in my life.’ ‘Remember, it’s about feel. Close your eyes for a moment and feel the image inside you, just dying to come out.’ Her first brush strokes were tentative, slow, almost as if she were fighting to coax her imagination. He fucked my ass like that for a few minutes, before giving his cock a few strokes. Rubbing it along my lips, he asked, "Are you ready to take this up your ass?" Yes, God, yes." He wasted no time in pushing the thick, red head of his dick against my asshole. After a few seconds of steady pressure it popped in, and he slid the rest of his thick meat into my tight, hot hole. He fucked me hard, pushing in to the hilt then pulling out so only the head remained, before ramming in again. I felt. More

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