Slut craves stiff cock.

Luscious Angie nursed an insatiable desire to become a writer. She idolized the skill of renowned wordsmiths, yearning to follow in the footsteps of Jack London or Ernest Hemingway. To ensnare her elusive muse, Angie enveloped herself in opulence and insisted on using a vintage typewriter, convinced that modern gadgets like laptops would sully the enchantment of her craft.

Clad in a silken robe that barely concealed her voluptuous figure, Angie seated herself at her desk, her nipples hardening against the cool surface. She slid a crisp sheet of paper into the typewriter, her fingers trembling with anticipation. As she began to type, the sharp clack of the keys echoed through the room, mimicking the rhythm of her own pulsating cunt.

Suddenly, her boyfriend sauntered in, his erect cock already straining against his jeans. He sidled up behind her, offering a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes locked onto the swell of her tits. "Coffee, my little wordsmith?" he murmured, his voice laced with innuendo.

Angie's breath hitched, her pussy clenching as she turned to face him. Her robe slipped open, revealing the curve of her waist and the shadow of her tight, wet cunt. She could feel his gaze, hot and hungry, roaming over her body. "You know I can't resist you," she purred, pushing the typewriter aside. Her work could wait; her throbbing pussy couldn't.

He smirked, setting the coffee down as he leaned in, his breath hot on her ear. "You're such a slutty little writer, Angie," he growled. "You want my massive cock deep inside your tight asshole, don't you? You want me to stretch that tight little hole while you type your filthy words."

Angie's cheeks flushed, her body aching with desire. She knew she was a slut for words, a whore for the written language. And now, she was a bitch in heat, desperate for an anal fucking. She couldn't wait to feel his giant cock deep inside her, to feel the exquisite pleasure-pain of an ass fucking while she wrote her masterpiece.