“You better kiss you mistress lil s*s. Or I’ll crush your balls and tell Dave to beat the shit out of you!”, she said smiling.I kiss her but she...doesn’t stop to hurt my balls. The smell on her face is so strong… Like Dave had a workout right before making my girl lick his sweaty ass. …the smell is not that bad at all… and her tongue tastes surprisingly good. At least as far as I can tell, since I have my balls roughly squeezed by her.After a long, sloppy kiss she says: “You better don’t try to. ‘Who made you the way you are?’ I asked. ‘I have never told this story before,’ he said, as he sat down, ‘but I have rehearsed this over and over in my head, at least a hundred times. I was born in 1863 to Harold Dean Hunter and Elizabeth Anne Hunter. My parents were very wealthy and we lived in a rich neighborhood in New York. A nanny raised me, my mother had a terminal illness and the doctors could find nothing to ease her pain. My father couldn’t stand to be at home and see his wife dying. Before continuing, I should mention how I became the man I am and how Ann took charge of me. My wife Ann and I met in college and had been married for twenty-five happy years. She was still very beautiful and could easily catch the eye of men and women. Ann was in charge of me sexually, although it was not always the case. We started out like any other couple, sex every day and many times on weekends. She had many lovers before me and every time she had spoken of them I always ended up with a. “This is a learning experience for me too, honey,” mom said, and I have to mention I had found some new kind of adoration and appreciation for my mother during this. “It’s a bit uncomfortable if it goes straight down my throat like that, and Dr. Janice said it’s important for me to become familiar with the taste and learn to accept it and eagerly expect it.”“Sure thing, mom,” I nodded in agreement as her fingers started slowly and sensitively stroking my balls, and that felt really nice. Mom.