God of Fire

Eager fingers ascended her inner thigh to play in the warmth of her sex. Still, she didn’t wake.

In her dream, she was a nubile maiden, tied spread-eagle onto a ceremonial altar, her wet pussy an offering to Vulcan, the god of fire, as he feasted on her soft flesh before slowly filling her with his thick cock.

It was the smell of stale beer that woke her to find her usually bumbling husband pumping into her hard from behind like a revved up Ferrari instead of a busted mini-van. He was no Roman god, but the way he moved his hips now gave her flashbacks to the summer she’d hitchhiked, danced, and fucked her way across Italy.

Her husband never danced. But if this new move was the result of liquid courage, she didn’t mind one bit.

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“Fuck, baby! You’re so wet…!” He said as he grabbed her plump ass and spread her open, just beyond where his cock plowed into her. Her favorite erogenous zone, it was an area he usually ignored.

“Oh, god! I’m coming,” she yelled into the air that smelled of burnt wood and sex.

She’d be sure to burn a candle of thanks to Vulcan tomorrow. Right now, her husband was giving the god of fire a run for his money…and she was four strokes away from bursting into flame. 💋

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