The Massage - Memory Loop
I can’t NOT think about it. No matter how I try. The memory of that stud masseur having his way with me plays in continuous loops over and over in my mind.
his crotch grinds into my face as he feeds his rock hard, throbbing cock down into my throat… he wields it like some kind of weapon… jabbing and thrusting… fucking away at my stuffed esophagus… using me like a cheap masturbation toy until he shoots off like the Fourth of July, flooding my stomach with his hot load… ensuring I will carry more than just the memory of him home with me…
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