He started to move his hips slowly, pushing and pulling two or three inches of himself in and out of my mouth. He kept saying, 'You're so warm. I love...you, Melody, you're the best wife. Just keep holding your mouth like that. It feels great, my wife.' He was mumbling and saying my name over and over while he bucked his hips back and forth. It tasted pretty funky. It was salty and strong, and it tasted like a man smelled. He was holding me by my hair, which hurt but I didn't say nothin. I was. .." I get it," Luke replied. "Every year on my mom's birthday... she'd ask me to make her cake. I think the first time, I was eight years old and I hated it. She wouldn't give me any help--only with handling the oven. And I couldn't just go out and get one that came in a box, either. I'd have to look it up in a cookbook and make it from scratch; and there was always a huge mess that I'd have to clean up when I was finished. But when we brought it out after dinner, she'd gush over it like it was. More

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