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I was relatively new to cellular technology. I had never possessed a cell phone until I was issued one by my employer. I rarely carried it and I rarely used it. I remember that I had to search through the bedroom for a moment to locate it.Two years later, on Mother’s Day 2003, I would get another horrible call on the device telling me that my oldest sister, the sweetest person I knew and the person I considered my moral compass, had died.I cannot recall a single time I have received good news via cell phone. Perhaps that is why I despise them so thoroughly.On this day in 2001, I remember I looked at the caller ID on my phone with surprise. I had three brothers and four sisters and, at the time, I talked to about three of them with anything remotely resembling consistency. The number of the phone was from my middle brother, a man I had spoken to exactly once since my mother died in 1996.Then I saw he’d called half a dozen times.I knew the fact he would call me at all would portend bad. I withdrew slightly, paused for two or three heartbeats, and then rammed into her, hard and deep, burying Mr T completly in her cunt. I was engulfed by her clinging sweetness -- it was like immersing my prick in a jar of warm honey, no wonder a woman's cunt is also called the honey pot.My pubic bone was now hard up against her clitoris, which was as swollen as if I had been sucking on it for hours. I ground hard against her love bud, and she started to breath quickly and nosily, her mouth twisted in a grimace of delight.Then John Thomas let me down. I was determined to bring Pippa to orgasm before I reached that pleasure myself, but I hadn't counted on her educated cunt. It clutched me; it gripped me, it sucked and milked me so expertly that I suddenly came with a yell of both gratification and surprise, as I hadn't expected to climax so quickly. Pippa looked at me; delight, mingled with triumph, on her face as I flooded her with my stored up load. She was still gazing up at me, my.
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