Journey through Desolation

Better to fuck you by, he’d let run through his brain. She, indeed, was ripe for it.

“Now, now,” she murmured after his tongue and lips had taken her breath away and given her an explosion—and then another—and he rose up over her, hooked her legs on his hips, and moved in for the kill. Crying out “Yes, yes, YES!” again and panting hard, groaning, and grasping his now bare hips in her hands, digging her fingernails in, he entered her and held for several moments for her to adjust to the thickness of him. The steady rocking motion of the train, was already animating the fuck, though. He was rocking inside her and she was rocking her hips against his groin. She cried out, “Oh, Fuck!” as he began to pump.

An hour and a half later, before he rose off her, Charlene stretched out on her back on the bed, one arm dangling over the side of the bed and the hand of the other one cupping the back of Shaka’s head, Shaka dipped down and feasted on her nipples again. She lay there, exhausted, running her fingers through his long, black hair, which she’d loosed from a tight bun on the back of his head. Her legs were open, turned outward. She was keeping her cunt fully accessible to him, not being able to get enough of the big, black cock. Her eyes were glazed over, a slight smile on her lips, her mouth gently blowing bubbles.

Releasing a nipple he’d been teasing with his teeth, Shaka moved his lips to her ear. “Cruise to New Zealand with me. Sleep in my bed. I’ll give you the attention you need, want, and deserve. We’ll play the violin and cello for the passengers by day and I’ll fuck you on the big bed in the master’s cabin every night.”