I sit up a little, with his face still close to mine. He unclips my bra and I shrug it off. His hand inches down to my panties. His fingers trace the ...utside of the black material, but as it gets thinner and thinner, there isn’t much to trace. I feel myself get wet under his touch. He smiles at me and pulls them slowly off, revealing my waxed mound. His fingers trace me, pulling at the lips of my opening, spreading me just slightly. I push on his boxer shorts as he kisses my neck. He kicks. Even with sparring gloves, the skin didn't have the toughness it used to. He watched as the split skin healed. Another couple of weeks at the bag and that wouldn't happen anymore.The healing was something he could only stop with specific thoughts. He'd forgotten in Afghanistan. The slip had nearly exposed him. Only a painful reversal of his rapidly healing wounds kept the medics from strapping him to a gurney and shipping him to a black site for dissection.The muffled sound of a ringing cell. Especially since I had somewhat suspected that Mom and David weren't exactly "strangers," I did what every horny little sister does when she is curious. I spied on them. Making sure Dad went into his home office to take care of some work, I ducked into Mom's sewing room, which has a pretty good view of the back deck.I crawled over the couch, and got comfortable, leaning over the back and staring out the window. At first, it looked to me like the standard haircut. Mom was cutting his hair, and. The blood huts had been designed by a very clever administrator, and the water flowed in and out of it via an effective filtering system. Some of the young administrators monitored the filters, and released the young women once the blood flows had stopped. She hated the hut, but she put up with it for the good of the tribe.She was expecting to be released in the next few hours, depending on when the normally reliable administrators checked the filter next. As it turned out, a male administrator.