The Baby Maker

Robert's eyes were almost closed but still he struggled, hanging on to that last sliver of consciousness like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a bit of flotsam. But she was making it hard, almost impossible to stay awake. The vision of the large soft breasts that first ensnared him now danced inside his drooping eyelids. Her musky perfume filled his nostrils, tranquilizing him when he should be terrified. Her voice was cooing and inviting, promising him repose ... and relief. He could no longer push away the soft hand on his cock, massaging him, stroking him, making him want to come so bad. Still he resisted. He knew, somehow, that as long as he did not orgasm he was not lost. That was her teasing almost irresistibly tempting offer: let her make him come, give in to her touch; give in to the terrible sweet drowsiness that would melt his will into hers.

How did this happen? How could he have blundered from a difficult relation with his pushy girlfriend into this nightmare? If he had on