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I was Ryan’s sex toy and he used me whenever he could. My only worry, about staying in the US to shoot porn, was that somebody would recognize me and word would get out that I was shooting adult films at the age of 16. My fake passport and ID was pretty good, but it wouldn’t hold up to a legal inquiry. Of course, no one knew about this except for me and my family. All of the folks who I worked and played with thought that I was a sexy, 19 year old nympho, but even if they were to find out, I highly doubt that it would be the end of my sex life. I snuggled up to Ryan as we crawled into bed, after arriving home from the party at 5 am. My pussy and asshole were sore and most likely still filled with semen, but I was tired and needed my sleep. I had been rather busy at the party and Ryan had watched 13 different men fuck me and 8 get sucked off before we finally left. He kissed me and I fell asleep quickly and dreamed of all of the cum I had swallowed that night. My dreams always. ?Here.? Wash my ballsand ass with my cock in your mouth.? She takes the soap and washcloth from him and leans forwardon her knees. She squeezes soap on the washcloth, reaches around, and washeshis ass. Then she washes his balls. ?Gentle? He catches her slowly stroking his cock with her mouth andtells her not to even try. She obediently stops. ?Now wash my legs and feet and don?t tickle me.? She puts more soap on the washrag and lathers up his legs.She has always told him how much she loves his legs. He removes his cock from her mouth. ?Now wash my cock.? Heputs the soap in the palm of her hand and she glides it across his hard cock. ?Sweetheart. Clean it. Don?t jack it.? With the shower nozzle, he rinses all the soap from his hairand body, and places his cock back into her mouth. He steps back, and she follows with his cock in her mouthand with the shower stream landing on her shoulders, he reaches down, removesthe scruchy from her hair, and squirts shampoo onto her head and he.
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I wish that he would give me as much attention as he gave that bike. She was on her third bike so far, having sacrificed one in the Polecat massacre and drowned the other in the Med, but she knew that with a biker it was different. To Lara, a bike was a tool to be used, but to them, their bikes were part of who they were, a crucial part of their identity. The care and affection they gave their machines was akin to that of Arabian cavalry, who fed and maintained their horses before making camp or tending wounded. A biker without a bike wasn't a biker.Ben had gone over his sad looking machine with a look of pain that would have been humorous in any other circumstance. In truth, though, the vehicle was in a sorry state. Its forest of exhaust pipes and headers were riddled with bullet holes and set at odd angles from the destruction of his rocket booster. The front forks were bent from the jarring they had received on that horrid road and the rest of the bike looked, well, tired. Ben had.

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