“Ben, lube up your fingers. Good...now rub my hole,” I told him. His slick fingers brushed over my asshole. I clenched and heard Joey groan. Beari...g down, I allowed his probing finger to slowly enter my tight ass. The harder I bear down the tighter my pussy became. Eventually, Ben's finger pushed past my sphincter and sank all the way in. “Goddamn! Man, I can feel your finger through her ass,” Joey ground out. His face was red and wet with sweat. I leaned down and nibbled on his neck. I felt so. He lived on the second floor of a three storey building. He had a lounge, a kitchen with a dining table, a bedroom and a bathroom. Rogan lived alone. He was a man who didn't give a shit about anything.Rogan was 42; physically far fitter than anyone in Britain half or a third of his age, never been married and never had children with any woman, stood at 5'8, bald (he used to have jet black hair but not anymore), the color of his eye iris as green as the leaves in Sherwood Forest, ran an Internet. She didn't have lunch at the same time Jeanne and I did — sophomores shared a fifth period lunch with freshmen, while juniors and seniors had sixth period lunch — but I'd seen her in the halls now and then. Up until today, though, it had never occurred to me to wonder how she got there.My newfound curiosity may have been prompted by my actually having spent a good bit of time with her the previous evening watching the Super Bowl. She had asked a lot of questions, and when Dave's answers proved. "You smile, appreciating his attention, feeling somehow a kinship in an otherwise foreign environment. "Well, I was visiting a friend in Europe. She was a grad student, working at CERN. We were just chatting while she was processing some data when--" Janeway to all senior officers," a voice announces. "Report to the bridge immediately." Damn," says Tom, standing and straightening his uniform. "Duty calls. But I want to hear this." All right," you say. "We'll talk later." We'd better," he says.