He strokes my hair, knowing I'm needing the comfort. He hears my low sigh and slowly rotates his hips. He gauges me, before he begins. His fucking is ...lanned yet random. He's thrusting, circling his hips, bouncing himself off my fat ass. The music is drowned out from the sound of our bodies colliding together. I clutch the couch cushion from the euphoric sensations he's sending through my body.He's picking up speed. His marathon stamina is kicking in as flesh hits flesh. I bite down on a random. She mused, “The trouble is, whilst I can improve my aim with a cushion I won’t know if I am hitting hard enough.” “Why do you need to hit the boy hard?” “It has to be real Mr Harding. I don’t want to look like a plonker do I? No, I have to make sure everyone in the audience hears a proper stroke has been given.” Gary was still struggling with the concept. “Won’t the boy mind, being caned so hard?” “Well he is getting away with a double detention and Saturday detention and he gets to watch his. More

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