I am firmly of the opinion that passing out has officially become the new norm for me every single time I so much as catch a whiff of an orgasm around Trey.
He was right after all. I am, in fact, a blackout cummer.
The only silver lining to it is that whenever I finally drag my consciousness back to the land of the living, I always find myself fully dressed. Just like I did minutes ago when my eyelids fluttered open to find that Trey had now put my bra and dress back on.
My c*m-soaked panties, however, are very much missing.
When I groggily ask him about their whereabouts, he simply shrugs, wearing an unholy look of satisfaction. I have a very strong feeling the man stole them–just like he stole my granny panties back at the library. What he plans on doing with a growing collection of
