The names have been heavily disguised as to protect the guilty in my re-telling of the experience. James Metro was an art curator. A mus...ed tuft of hair jutted out from above his chin like a couple of bean sprouts lazing out from the lips of rye bread, his straight framed glasses cozening a haughty gilt of ‘Non too plus’ upon the crook of his nose, his eyes caged like dozy lions having recently reminded themselves, as purring keepers of the plains, of their rank and title either. Her cunt was all slippery and sloppy now with the mess of semen I had slopped in there. I thrust into her again and with each new piston fuck- stroke, some of my old semen dribbled out of her to run down her legs. Ten or fifteen minutes later she had come twice more and I finally climaxed inside her again. We finally did get around to some dinner and wine… and then we went at it again, this time with Cassandra riding me. In that position, I could see every detail of my cock shaft. She had the cutest innocent voice. she came up to after class, everyone had gone already."mr. johnson, can i talk to you?" sure rebecca, have a seat, what is wrong?" well, i never had a daddy, and my mom doesnt care about me she is barely around becus she spends all her time with all these guys all the time. I am always alone and i just wish I could have someone be around and help me, I barely have enough to eat and my clothes are falling apart." "well rebecca, i am very sorry to hear that, I. It wasa part of a farm owned by a farmer that loved the land and caredfor the Oak Tree. One day the farmer brought a bundle to the tree andsaid to the tree, "Oh Mighty Oak, here is my son that I love. He shallbe taught to love you as I have loved you all of these years."Then the Mighty Oak Tree formed a soft cradle to bed the bundle whilethe farmer tended the fields.As the boy grew up, he began to tend the Mighty Oak and spent many anhour playing within its lofty branches. Mighty Oak was his.