A Coach House on the road to Norfolk, a motel whose clerk wasall too used to someone asking: Remember him? Gentry was there, but leftearly in the morn...ng, three weeks before. Slipped the keys in the mailslot; with just 10 mostly-empty rooms, 10 miles from the highway, theCoach House was not the kind of place that sprung for a night clerk. Theroom smelled of stale smoke and stale socks.The Coach House paid for maids, but not too much, and got about what ithad paid for. No bloodstains, no marks. He straightened up, let me gasp in air. A fire burned hot in his eyes now!"Where do you want it cocksucker? Face or mouth?" He said, his voice tense with excitement as his cock twitched ready to go back in my mouth."Both sir!" I gasped.He shoved it back in my mouth, gripped my head with both hands and fucked my face hard and fast! I gagged and spluttered, spit spraying and spilling down over my lips, soaking my beard! If he was inexperienced, he was overcoming it fast!I could hear him breathing. More

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