It was just two days before Christmas when I got the call, and as always Iwas spending the holidays alone. It wasn't that I didn't have any friends,bu... there were just too many bad memories and I would just as soon drownmyself in alcohol and spend my Christmas in a drunken stupor. I'd only hadtwo beers and was about to start in on a third when I heard the phone ring.I almost didn't answer it, but for some reason I had this nagging feelingthat it might be important."Jake?" a soft and melodic. . ass.“This was just cuckolding and SPH carried to a radical new extreme. It was his way to ensure that I was pleasured as the Goddess that I am and that his own personal ego didn’t get in the way. I applaud and adore him even more for that,” Samantha encouraged this increasing trend toward relegating male-on-female penetration to Dietrich Guttmacher’s past.“It’s been a long time coming, as they say. I just ... don’t want to mess with it anymore, not that I have any say about it. It’s time to. "I don't think it would be a lucrative profession for you."I smile, lean in towards his ear. He steps in closer to hear me and our bodies are almost touching. A shiver runs down my spine and between my legs."You don't think I am perhaps a... specialist?"Now he laughs, "Perhaps. An old friend once stayed in a beautiful apartment in central Paris. Her landlord was a young man with a good white-collar job. He asked for no rent, his only stipulation was that every evening she had to put on. There's a familiar pressure of cock against underpants, the entrapment of the willing. A memory prods me, of when I was younger. Before women, before sex, but after the discovery of pleasure. I remember the motion and the feeling; the pure wanton release of youth, and the unbelievable frequency of it. I blush, remembering the stiff stained sheets; proof of the act, or sometimes just the dream.I lie on my back, calm and sure in the warmth, and slide my hands down my skin. There's a certain.
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