How many times will you tell me that you're hung like a bull before I demand proof? Will my challenge make you see red?
This won't be a time for tenderness or coaxing. If you're going to parade out your prized bull, you will need to exhibit it's verility and fierceness right out of the gate. You'll need to know that I'll expect my pants resting on my shoes and your toro charging before I get a decent eye on it.
If you're as big as you claim, I'll know. Push me over the work table and plow deep. I'll want to gasp.
How long before others question that you're in my area. How long before others question that you are in my area. They won't call attention to it, either too embarrassed ...or embarrassed that they find it hot and sticky: exploding firey metal shrapnel and bodies at a railroad crossing. Silent: they cannot look away.
Grab the flesh at my hips with rough hands digging. Pull me back to meet you with such force that I'll have finger print bruises on my stretch marks.
Across the warehouse, others plunge a hand inside pants to silently take sides.
I'll reach back and take the reigns -- you by your sack -- slow your stabbing while you ache to finish. This Matador is not defenseless. You'll ask please before slowly returning. My wrist rubs my clit as I lead you in and back. Pleasure comes in the sawdust.
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