“Did you go running today?” I asked, a little confused. “No. I just don’t like regular bras. Like most women’s clothes, they are just too u...comfortable.” “Oh. Yeah. Makes sense.” I hadn’t really thought about it. She always wore men’s clothes. And didn’t wear makeup or heels. She was just not a “girly girl”. It was the only way we really differed but I had stopped noticing a long time ago. It was just the way she was. We laid back together on the couch and I could feel every inch of her hips. He was my number one masturbation fantasy those days, imagining him fucking me gave me many, many, explosive orgasms. It was obvious he preferred Peg to me, but I still flirted shamelessly none the less. About the third week we had known him, I went at closing time to hang out with Peg, and while she counted out the day’s money, I wiped the counters, filled the salt shakers and napkin holders to help her get done quicker. She had a strict curfew and had exactly one hour to get home, and when I. ”The CIA agent walked into the room and announced, “The Stryker is here.”I told Jack, “Listen, we’re taking a Stryker to the bomb makers building to see if anything is left after we shelled the hell out of the building.”Jack asked, “Who the hell is this we?”I laughed and said, “Me and the CIA agents of course. We’ve become good friends. I’ll give you a call when or if I decide anything.”I put down the mike, called the radio operator back into the room and left with the CIA agents.I met George. ." I bite into Megan's neck, teeth marks showing...as my hand returns to her hot cunt...her pussy rubbing harder now...then...*whack*...again...again...again...up under her legs she feels the lashes...jolting her entire pussy up into the air...it seems...as my strokes are brutal...meant to hurt...and cause tears and pain now... "Is my pussy wet, a bit...slave?", feeling the heat rising into her nipples...her face flushed with some degree of desire...then...as she feels...a lash again...she.