"Do you know him?"
Fiona frowns at me over a mug of Colombian filter coffee. I can see her out of the corner of one eye, but it's a little difficult to answer because of the cock in my mouth. It's fairly average in size, just long enough to penetrate my throat, and is very keen to do so. The way his fingers coil through my long hair is persuasive.
"Hey, you," Fiona says, "whatever your name is, could you use one of her other holes? I'm talking to her and it would be great if she could answer."
One of my other holes? Charming. I roll my eyes at her as his fist tightens painfully and he forces his cock as deep into my throat as it will go - which isn't far, but enough that I still can't breathe. The blood pounds in my ears.
But then he thrusts me away and I gasp for air, saliva mixed with precum dripping from my chin. "Fine," he growls. "On your back on the table."
He's a bear of a man - think Wolverine without the adamantium claws. ("Hah! You wish," Fiona says with a snort of derision, but I'm the one telling this story and if she doesn't behave herself I might have to introduce some more horny men just for her. "Fine, okay," she adds quickly. "That's definitely not an Australian accent, though.") We're talking muscles and lots of body hair.
Fiona strategically moves my own coffee to a nearby table, making space for me to lie there, my bum at the edge, two clawless hands lifting my legs up and wide. "No knickers," he says. "Nice." (Yeah, okay. Definitely not an Australian accent. Brummie, maybe.)