(Many of the stories on this site use the word 'jism'; I've never learned the derivation of that word. I've always thought that it was a poor euphemis... for the creamy stuff that I call cum.) I looked around to make sure that no one could see us and then I yanked her T-shirt off over her head. Then she looked around, assuring herself similarly of our privacy, and leaned against the door to pull off her jeans."Look what I did for you this morning, Marv. Do you like it?" she asked, proudly pushing. "I could cum right now because it's so tight." No," Charlie gasped, the words getting him into action as he gripped the arms of the chair to balance himself before starting to raise and lower himself onto Oscar's pulsating manhood."That feels so good, and this chair - I think it was made for fucking, don't you?" Oscar asked as he ran his hands up and down Charlie's sides where his ribs glistened with sweat. "I fuck Loretta in it sometimes, did you know that?" No," Charlie grunted in response,. It turned out that he had my mother for a teacher shortly after his parents, Tina’s grand parents, moved to the area. He too had been a good student before, but couldn’t ever get higher than a ?B-? Hr recalled that he was blistered good when he brought those grades home by his father. After years of substandard grades, they just learned that grades for blacks from my mother were never going to be any higher. My mother was a bigoted racist it turned out.I nearly broke in to tears. I didn’t. When they hire you, the client is always sure, they just want your verification but when you do, they’re devastated. I was sure that Mr. Clark would be no different from all the others and as much as I hate to see a grown man cry, I don’t get paid until they see the evidence. However, I was wrong about him and you just can’t believe how much a detective hates to be wrong. Usually you give the client the photos and they may look at one or two but once the reality sets in they’ve seen enough..