Hell, some of them even discovered they were sliding onto the gay scale with a tube of KY and a butt plug when they read his steamier stories.A small ...anel of judges (made up of two spokespeople from the testicular cancer charity the competition was in aid of, a newspaper journalist and a professor from Oxford), asked only for original work entitled “Kiss”, and there were a lot of entries. That is not a euphemism. Well, actually, the journalist and the professor did hit it off, but that’s a. She was certainly right about them having grown some more. She now had almost as much as Denise did."Larry just got here Jane. He's playing with my boobies right now. Larry, Jane says to tell you hello. Yes, she's here, but I think she's in the kitchen. His hands feel really good. My nipples don't hurt anymore, not like they did before, and his hands are already making me hot. No, I already told him he could do whatever he wants to me. You want me to really tell him that? You're sure? Okay.. I would wait until one am and then, hopefully the storm will have died down enough that I could start walking again.Until then, I might as well finish the diary.The final page was covered in smeared ink, almost impossible to read in the faint light that came from my phone. I squinted, trying to make out the indistinct words, finally catching a few words that made no sense together. I wondered if she knew who was after them, who would finally, just before midnight, kill her and her entire. “I love you, too. Good night, Bill.” She disconnected quickly, filled with shame and lust.Still hard, Mr. Johnson pulled out. “Get on all fours,” he said.Patricia obeyed. The bed quivered a bit as Mr. Johnson moved behind her. She felt his cock press against her anus, then start stretching it as he slowly entered her. She gasped again, the feeling of fullness being more enjoyable than the pain and discomfort of being stretched. “So good, slut.” Mr. Johnson was almost panting, clearly.