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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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