Wrapping your head around the concept of finding a guy worthy after you’ve fucked Aaron Black is like trying to wrap your hand around his cock; it just doesn’t fit.
I had changed. Not only was he on my mind all the time, but my mind was in a different place all together on men I met.
Another sleepless night, the dark enveloping me like a lover’s embrace. My mind wouldn’t let me sleep; Aaron Black’s cock was ripping through my pussy and brain over and over. His muscles, his face, the power in those cold, cold eyes, they all haunted me.
Sixteen inches. Sixteen fucking inches. Sixteen goddamned pussy-punishing inches.
You can’t imagine how frustrating it is to have to deal with that. Trying to find a man that measures a foot and four inches when you can scarcely find two men of those epic proportions.
And with proportions like mine, you’d think I could tame any man, no matter how big his dick was.
Rain soaked me through, the chill of the air magnified by the clinging of my wet clothes.
I was coming straight from work, a small-time paper, and was following a lead.
Aaron Black, it seemed, did not want to be found. He’d returned no phone calls, and I couldn’t find him on the net. I’d had to test the resources of my paper’s staff, convincing them that there was a story in Black, a business or human interest.