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</div><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff"><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>MICHAEL BRUNO REMINGTON</b></span></span><br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/><span style="font-size: 12px"><br/>
The light facial hair that adorned Michael's face brushed against the sensitive skin of Riley's inner thighs and vulva. Though, their coarse, scruffed pricks paled in comparison to the overt and sexual sensations incurred by Michael's broad, adoring tongue. He knew that the soft flesh he tasted had been the domain of dozens of men. The fact that Riley was an unqualified slut failed to faze Michael, and he doubted that the fact would faze Riley had his mind been known. The lovers that passed before him likely withered the same blasé attitude and no-nonsense fornication. Everyone came to such an event looking for something. Cynthia came looking for black cock, Riley came for base sex: What did Michael really come for? The answer formed at the margins of his mind, like a phantom cloud he'd rather ignore until he sat in his leather chair sipping brandy before bed. Those would be the only folds he'd slip between that evening. Well, no including the drenched petals he was currently licking and sucking on like a devoted madman. <br/>
<br/>
Riley's body reacted, sure enough. From the arching of her back to the fingers that laced into Michael's dark hair, he knew that — despite her exhibited indifference — he affected Riley. How deeply and to what extent eluded him, but the dew that accumulated on his goatee rendered such details as mute. She was becoming ready for him to plunder. Michael was about to hook his thumb into waistband and yank down his boxer shorts, but he paused. <i>No,</i> he thought. She might have been ready for him, but he was not. The erection that pointed from within his silken undergarment begged to differ, though Michael had something else in mind entirely.<br/>
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His moist face lifted from the swamp of Riley's arousal, and he planted a knee upon the bed where his face had just been. His leg felt the heat from her sex, and his other knee straddled her right leg.  He left her in want as his face regarded hers in oblique approach. Michael wasn't mounting her, as would be expected. Instead, their lips crashed together — not in tenderness, but with a brimming, erotic passion. She would have tasted herself on his lips and tongue, and the void between her legs did not suffer neglect for long. As they kissed, fingers replaced where his tongue had been. They felt; they rubbed in circles; they coaxed and entered; they adored: all actions toward a singular goal.<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to cum for me," Michael whispered, harshly. His free hand took the top of Riley's brown scalp and passion ignited between their lips as he fondled her sex. "Hands on the fucking bed!" he ordered, "And, spread your legs. Wider ... WIDER!" It had dawned on Michael that Riley's entire act had been a pathetic attempt at control; that was what had left him bristling. Michael might not have enjoyed control of much in his life, but he'd be dammed if he was going to be forced into actions in a manner against his will. He decided to enact a touch of lurid fun and punishment on Riley: he'd edge her several times before allowing her to unleash the tsunami of orgasms that would crash upon her over and over again. Only then would she get what she wanted; only then would Michael fuck her and leave to the wolves outside. <br/>
<br/>
Their foreheads touched and Michael's dark eyes bored into Riley's. "You're going to cum for me," he repeated, "but not yet. I want this bed soaked before I let you release." The grip on her hair tightened. "You must have permission before pleasure, understand?" The sounds of Michael's efforts — sloppy and juicy — echoed about the room, competing with the dull buzz of conversations just outside the bedroom. The quivering of his fingers gained in frenzy until they literally vibrated on her clit. "You ready to cum yet, you slut?"<br/>
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