I Hung On To Him, I Needed A Meal Ticket

Being poor, a starving musician, I needed a meal ticket. When this guy came around, very talented, but family rich I clung onto him. He was uninterested, sex was mechanical, he really saw me as tits and a hole for fucking. I did all the cooking, and ninety percent of the housekeeping. But I lived in a much better neighborhood and drove a late model car.

I stayed and cooked and cleaned and hung on his arm. He pushed and I got better gigs, but he wanted me home not at bars. He has a thing for tits, show him my tits and sit on his lap. He grabs me by the tits, and more than once I've had to move his hand when he holds me with his arm around my neck. What is it about tits? It's rhetorical question, men like tits, I'm glad now that I have them. As a matter of fact that's the only reason he even looked at me.

Sometimes to show him I stand naked beside him, so his dick can contrast with my pussy and hips. I keep a tightly trimmed bush, he likes seeing my lips. I want him to know, I'm not just tits, I'm here for him to fuck me. There really is a huge anatomical difference, his height, his broad shoulders, his dick of course, his big hands, his deep voice. Not to mention his possessive personality and his six o'clock shadow.

He decided he would marry me during COVID. He gave me a family heirloom, and a new name and bank account. I'm thirty, I need to get pregnant. It's strange living where money doesn't matter. I have all the permission I need to decorate. Well one thing I do is wear an open top for breakfast and stand beside him and let him suck on my tit. I like it when he looks at me and I can feel his dick getting hard. I want him to fuck me, a man who fucks at home comes home. Now it's time for my pussy to get pregnant.