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I made him cover his face with a pillow. This I feel is quite an accomplishment, as usually he’s the one whose actions force me to stifle screams with bedding.
Round one and a short break over, I poured warm oil over him from chest to ankles. I did my very best to avoid the center of his body as I rubbed long hard strokes up his legs, across his chest and down his arms. For fifteen minutes I avoided it, but then temptation got the better of me.
It was too soon to start something up again; maybe that’s why as soon as I took his cock into my mouth he pulled the pillow over his head and moaned. In no time at all his hips lifted off the bed and his hand almost — almost! — went to the back of my head.
The other hand pushed the pillow down more firmly over his face; when he came it was with an monstrous yell. I would have loved to have heard him without the pillow, but even with that fluffy noise abatement he was shockingly loud.
I made him cover his face to hold back a yell. I love this kind of thing.
Should I feel guilty about this? Does loving it make me an immoral woman? Does writing about it make me a pornographer? Just to be clear, it’s unlikely that I’ll stop even if the descriptions of “immoral woman” and “pornographer” are correct.
But it would be nice to have an accurate description of what I do, if for no other reason than for tax purposes.



