Everywhere I go, people always ask me the same thing. "Ferret, what's your recipe for love?" And my answer's always the same...

My hands are tied loosely above my head, just enough to give me the illusion of captivity. The silk thread of his tie is nice and smooth against my delicate skin, but I hardly have time to notice it between the waves of pleasure that pulse through me every time he lays into me with another, deep stroke of his cock. He is nothing if not methodical, my man, and I've already cum once to the tune of his tongue dancing merrily against my clit, and then once more with a vibrator glued to the sensitive nub, legs spread to wrap around him in a carnal embrace. Now, he's moved onto the overture, and I feel my legs shake slightly as he grinds himself slowly into my asshole, the tight ring clenching around him as hard as it can. With my legs in the air, he is able to angle my entire body to his will, and the pillow wedged beneath my ass helps line me up perfectly for his thrusts. Had he anticipated, I wonder, buttfucking me before we've even had our thanksgiving dinner? I'm not sure that's how things are done where he's from... but I suppose it's time we start making our own traditions.

Whatever the case, he's certainly no slouch about it, and the shift from one hole to the next hasn't fazed him. If anything, he seems even more intent to explore every sordid inch of my ass, and my soft moans and gentle wiggling against him only serves to spur him on. Which is, obviously, the idea. His fingers are roaming across my legs, shifting from the back of my knees down to the soft skin of my inner thighs, and I feel a slight tremor of pleasure as two fingers slide across my puffy sex, moisture tracing a slick line behind his digits as he moves on. With the sensation of his shaft grinding lewdly against my ring, I am barely cognizant of what he is doing; everything simply mixes together in a steady stream of pleasure, punctuated by the throbbing pulse of his cock working into me. Only when something cool begins to prod against my slit do I open my eyes languidly, curious to see his newest trick of the trade.

I am not able to see what he is holding; by the time I manage to focus my eyes, the angle of my body obscures his hand. But I feel it in no uncertain terms, as something hard and cylindrical slides into me, the rubber shape finding no resistance between my sodden lips. With the size of his cock already invading my tail-hole, the dildo feels absolutely huge, and my moans rise an octave as he wiggles it into place above his own cock, the two turgid lengths finding equal purchase within me. Dazed, and quite overwhelmed by pleasurable sensation, I glance up at him to find a look on his face as if he has won the damn lottery. He grins, his hands grabbing onto my hips, and then thrusts into me with both shafts at once, which elicits a drawn-out whimper-moan from my throat. He does it again, to the same effect. And again. And again...

Feeling a suddenly great kinship with the turkey roasting in the oven, I try to control my body as it quakes and shivers, every plunge of his hips forcing another gasp or moan from my lips. I am full to bursting with cock, and as his pounding grows harder and more frenetic I throw my head back and dig my fingers into the sheets above my head, feeling the delightful helplessness of the tie around my wrists as I buck against him. Harder and harder he fucks me, the dildo's slight movements underscoring the hammering of his cock into my ass, and when I can't resist the temptation any longer I reach my hands down, both wrists still tied together, and begin to rub myself furiously to the crashing impact of his body against mine. There is no demure dignity any longer; I pant and moan while my fingers grind almost painfully against my clit. Gasping his name repeatedly, I look up at him through hooded lids, with every muscle in my body taut and vibrating like something out of string theory. I feel him tense up against me, and suddenly his pace goes haywire. He practically forces my knees up to my chin as he leans down across me, pounding his way home with a recklessness that tips me over the edge for a third and final time. Screaming, crying, unable to control the sounds that erupt from my throat, I cum-- and so does he.

We ride the wave of orgasm together, his thick cum-vein pumping my asshole full of his sticky love while my legs shudder and jerk against his shoulders. I am almost insensate, overtaken by pleasure that seems like it will never fade, and the pulsing heat of his cum shooting into me is just the cherry on top of my perfectly double-stuffed sundae. When I finally come back down, it is to the sensation of him pulling his cock from my overworked hole, and the trickle of warm seed spilling onto the sheet below. I slip the toy out of my slit and toss it aside, and then collapse in a pool of sweat and cum, smiling and thoroughly fucked as he looks down at me with a smirk.

Yes, everywhere I go, people always ask me the same thing. "Ferret, what's your recipe for love?" And my answer's always the same.

It's a matter of stuffing.