He was fucking my mouth, crude as it sounded to my mind. The saline tang that I remembered was present, my cheeks bulged, and I was at times grasping for air as he tried to insert its full length into my mouth. One hand was now on the back of my head, preventing me from leaning backwards to escape him. Despite the adrenaline driven panic that swiftly rose up and dropped off again because my hands were bound behind my back, I found that I was enjoying myself, and becoming accustomed to the sensation of having him inside my mouth, the feelings, tastes and emotions. Quickly my tongue learned to trace the veins in his shaft, the bulge around its head, and the delicate opening at its crown.That I was becoming accustomed must have transmitted itself to him, and quickly he sought to remedy that situation. Entwining my hair in his fist he pulled my head right back, until all I could do with my mouth was leave it hanging open as I looked up at him. Now the wicked look in his eye was back; and. He stuffed his hands in his deep pockets and followed the foreman up a steep embankment to an almost empty and reasonably level field of some five or six acres. Even the stumps had been removed from this gently rolling landscape. For some reason it reminded Matthew of the ocean, a still and bleak ocean."Now here's the first pit," Martz said, kicking at a blackened circle some thirty feet in diameter and holding his cocked hat to his head."Tain't a pit a'tall." Matt looked at the staggered row of huge circles on the plateau, all edged with thick mounds of charcoal dust, some with what looked like a flag staff stuck squarely in their coal-black middle."Ja, I know, but dey calls 'em dot. I say 'hearth, ' dey auf 'pit.' Anyroad, here ve make the damn charcoal, not down in the ground like you might'a in the old country. Them odd-lookin' shacks vhere most of d'colliers liff. You can see big piles of charcoal yonder, at the coal house and unter dat canvas." Sure not like I seen at home,.
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