It only make me want you more. You grasp your cock and caress the outside of my V with it, and you know all I want you to do it to put it in. ‘Do y...u want it?’ you ask with a smirk. ‘Yes,’ I reply quietly, almost out of breath from being so turned on. Then I shoot you a longing look and add, ‘don’t make me beg.’ Seeing that lust in my gaze makes you go crazy, and you slide in your dick into my tight, awaiting pussy with total ease. At this point I can only moan in pleasure while you pound me. ” I keep repeating each like a mantra. You’ve got a hundred tricks and before I know it you’ve spun around 180 degrees on me without ever pulling me out of you. I run my fingertips lightly down your back. That canvas is a wonder all its own; the way your ribs show through your pale skin just the right amount, your tattoos, the outline of your shoulder blades, the crack of your ass. A back I’ve abused in so many, many ways and shoulders I’ve nearly torn flesh from with my teeth. Tattoos. The funny thing is, well, to us outsiders at least, both conditions were caused by the same thing. A blonde mother! Oh, you don't understand how both conditions can have the same cause? Obviously you have never met a true blonde. OK, I will try to explain before I get into the story.First of all, think about the trials and tribulations of a boy going through puberty. Constant hard on at any hint of female flesh or suggestion of sexuality is the most obvious problem to any observer. All you men. "I went up to have a shave and looked at myself standing there in my slipand panties and wondered how many other men in the world were shavingthis morning dressed like me?Surely not many I thought, except perhaps gay men. Did that mean I wasgay?Then I felt Lorraine's arms around me and she spun me round and sat meon the edge of the bath."Let me tidy up those messy eyebrows of yours" she said as she startedplucking my eyebrows."Oh, oops, sorry, I have overdone it slightly." Lorraine giggled. .