- Erotic Poetry
- The Quickie
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The cold metal of the outside door presses against her back
Her hands slide through his hair as he growls against her lips
She tries to catch her breath but can’t
Her mind is racing as the cold wind snakes up her legs
She wishes she wore pants but knows he would not have approved
He thrusts harder and harder and finally reaches his peak
She can’t help but moan as his fertile sperm floods her opening
He steps back and fixes her skirt, not caring if his cum runs down her leg
They walk hand in hand down the street.
