Zoë pulled herself up onto Nigel’s chest, rubbing her nipples against the fabric of his short-sleeved shirt. The shirt buttons slid over the perspi...ation of her skin. “Come on big boy. Off with your clothes!” “I’m sorry? I mean. What do you think…?” “Shit! Stop fucking moaning and get on with it!” Weakly and defeated, Nigel undid his shirt and pulled it off, while below Zoë pulled his trousers and underpants off, and (because she really hated the sight of it in porn films) she made sure his. I raised my left leg and put it around his waist; he came closed and put his left leg around me. Both were hard and breathing shallow in anticipation. As I tugged him close our rigid cocks rubbed through our shorts. We had one lag around the others waist, grinding our dicks as I held his face in my palms and tenderly licked his inviting open mouth. He trapped my tongue and sucked it in. Then with the tip of his, he played with my tongue. We flicked our tongues and sucked on it. He stuck it out. Peters. Her name was Jill, and she was not a weirdo just a man-eater with a predilection for virgin students - allegedly.-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-“So then, slave? When are you going to be at my beck and call?”In the cold light of another dank autumnal morning, I frowned at Grace. I should have gone straight home from lectures and hid for a month or three. My toxic hangover, a tribute to cheap lager and cheaper vodka shots, still rankled. The idea of spending any time with Frankenstein’s. Morgan stared at the floor, tears welling up in her eyes. Okay, well then tell me about yourself. Dasha sighed. My name is Dasha, Im sixteen. I was a nationally ranked figure skater. I was supposed to compete in junior states to qualify for the Olympics. Karl worked the zamboni at my rink. Hed been watching me for months, planning this. Oh, Morgan said. What about you? Dasha asked her. Nothing special about me. Im fourteen, just started high school. I was riding my bike to school when Karl came.