This sounds amazing!

I'm sure you've already been inundated with orange letters, but if you're still looking for a good writer hit me up. I've been writing for a little while now and I've got quite a few samples that I can send over to prove my point. Here's one to whet you whistle and wet your loins:

I wrote this as a reply to a previous DPP'er but received no response, and I'd really like to play it out. I wrote it as though you are the mistress but you can choose either female role. Limits: no scat or pee; no minor ageplay; no gore or blood play; no beastiality We can start with reddit-mail but I prefer to work via my google drive once we get going “Hi hon-” Her voice cuts off as she pushes the door closed with her foot, her arms full of grocery bags. I pause mid-thrust with my cock glistening with your sticky, sweet juices. You are pressed into the supple brown leather of my overstuffed chair. I'm leaning over you, one hand still grasping your right breast and the other supporting myself on the back of the chair. The bags crash to the ground, and a half-gallon of milk pops open, as her knees buckle. You thrust your hips upward, giving me a mischievous smile. I feel your labia grip my shaft as you rock back and forth. My wife sinks to the ground and, putting her elbows on her knees, begins to sob. The milk spreads outward across the dark, burnished, hardwood floor. I look down at you, your upper lip in your teeth, as you force me deeper within you. I start to look back at my wife but you reach up and grip my chin and force it back to you. I can feel the cool wetness of the milk as it runs into my foot and pools around the base of the chair. Staring into your eyes, I begin to push back against you, timing my thrusts with the staccato sobs coming from the entryway. I don't immediately notice the silence until I feel the cold, hard metal pressing against my scrotum. I freeze and, looking down, I see the long thin blade of the kitchen knife positioned against my wrinkled skin. I hear my wife purring in my ear, her voice still quivering, "Thought you'd just bring some slut back here? Back here to OUR house?" Her voice rising at the end. I sigh with relief as I feel the blade leave my tender flesh, only to freeze once more as I hear your startled gasp. Looking down again, I see the blade is now positioned above my still-entombed cock, resting on your clitoris. Your eyes are wide with shock as my wife comes around and pinches your still-erect nipple. "You want to fuck this slut...go ahead, fuck her." You cry with a combination of pain and pleasure as my wife squeezes your nipple hard between her thumb and forefinger. I stand there, hunched over you like some lurid statue, scared to move for fear that the knife will remove your delicate button. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I see my wife reposition herself so that she is perched on the arm of the chair. The foam makes a foosh noise it compresses under her weight. She is a big girl by any means. Her five and-a-half foot frame effortlessly supported her hundred and thirty odd pounds. Her hazel eyes are swollen and bloodshot, black streaks trail from her mascara down her cheeks. Distractedly, I notice that I can see down the drooping v-neck of her t-shirt, and my eyes are drawn to her gentle mounds of her milky breasts.