”“Penelope Erin, you have only been eating ice cream. You have what we call brain freeze. Eat something warm and it will go away. How much ice cre...m have you had?”“I had six dishes.”“Yup, that’ll do it. Go and eat some warm sweet corn or baked beans.”Penelope walked off with her first taste of what a hang-over might be.“Paul? Why didn’t you tell them about eating too much ice cream?”“Erin, I could tell them until the cows come home but nothing teaches you that you’ve done too much than your own. She moaned.“Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Fuck me, papi!”Her moans were rhythmic. Her breasts bounced every time I penetrated her with lust. I groped them like a hungry animal. I penetrated her deeper and slower.“You like this shit?” I asked.“Yeahhhh…” She answered, moaning at the same time. I felt more of her wetness on me. I smacked her buttocks firmly.“You like this shit? Look back at me,” I said, more hungrily. She looked back while I fucked her with more emotion and passion. I felt her dripping. .. Quentin Osman was humming softly to himself, contentedly. It was the sound of a man well pleased with life. He began to murmur the words of the tune; at least his version:“Oh, what a beautiful morning; Oh what a beautiful day; I’m painting the cunt of my slave-girl; And everything’s going my way!” Quentin’s rather jowly, but well-tanned face slipped into a salacious grin. In his hand was a long, slim artist’s brush, the tip of which was covered with bright pink lacquer... and this lacquer. Both of us, you know?" You're out of your mind!" I repeated.To my horror, I wanted to see his cock, see what it looked like erect, how big it was. I kept my eyes right on his."I'll give you ten bucks," he said."Fuck you!" I shot back, laughing.A glance at Michael showed he looked embarrassed. David was embarrassed too, red faced with anxiety. Peripherally, I could see him losing hardness. Thank God. I was so not ready for this yet.No one said anything for a time. Then I said, "I don't want to.