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A young womanstared back at him, wide eyed and stiff. A young woman in the arms of alarge man. Her make up dark and sultry, her hair big and styled. Art sawhimself, but he saw a woman all the same. He was definitely getting toexperience what it was like to be a woman, to be objectified and pushedand pulled by a man. To be flirted with, and to flirt back. To havedrinks bought for him. To be opened up to. To be touched. To be kissed.His head was swimming. The kisses on his neck tingled down his spine.What was he doing? Is this not what he wanted? Is this not what Jessicafelt all the time? Is this not why he started dressing in the firstplace? At this moment Art couldn't quite remember why had begun dressing.The logic seemed lost on him. All he could think of was the grip Doylehad on him. The grip Doyle had on this woman. This girl. Him.The hand on Art's face was a shock. His head was pushed back towardsDoyle's over his shoulder. Their lips met. Art could feel the slicksurface of the. She began to be very loud but certain of the protection of our Abbess, I disdained the opinions of the more traditional sisters. I enjoyed the idea of their listening as we indulged our passions to the full. I wanted her to scream my name so that the entire Convent might hear and know that I was responsible. Her walls relented under the tender besiegement of Eros. I felt them give way and noted the way her juices richly flowed as I did my best to clean her, my face and hair wet with her. “Are you coming slutty Mary? Come for your lover. Shout my name when you come.” I moved the phallus in circles, worrying her inner walls. Her back arched fully, her little breasts and rib cage prominent now. She clenched my coverlet in her tiny fists. I was rubbing myself now, ready to come with her at any moment, still hoping that I might fit it inside of her to the hilt. She seemed to feel the same way. She begged me to keep fucking her. I did. Thus passed the afternoon. Eventually the light of the.
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