The room was silent, except for the sound of Arthur’s heavy, wet breathing. He was seventy-two, and every move he made seemed to require all the energy he had left. He was on top of me, his skin feeling like cold, compressed jelly against my thighs.
He groaned as he tried to push, but his d**k was short and soft.
Fuck. It didn't even go inside; it just rubbed clumsily against the surface of my opening.
It was a lazy, terrible f**k, something I had to endure every f*****g time. There was no rhythm at all. Even the wetness he thought he felt was a result of me secretly adding lubricant just before he started.
All I perceived was the smell of an old man's cologne and the sound of his joints popping.
"Oh... Arthur... yes..." I whispered, forcing a moan. I arched my back and bit my lip, pu
