From the very first feelings I had about my sexuality I realised I had a strange fetish toward older men, the fatter, the hairier the sweatier the bet...er, well within reason but I understood this fetish very well so much so that I avoided almost all contact with people my own age or younger than me in any sexual manner it was something that didn't turn me on at all and was definitely out of my comfort zone unless I was extremely desperate, so this particular day was a Saturday morning and I was. I know all of this may sound disgusting, and believe me, it was, but at that moment I had never wanted anyone to fuck me more. This was the man who had known me since I was a little girl, who had given me birthday presents and Christmas presents every year. Who had helped pay my tuition in college. And by the look on his face and in his eyes I knew it didn’t matter if I wanted to or not, he was going to have sex with me. I pushed of the covers and slowly stood up, as he began to walk over to me. He thought it was ingenious. If they refused to pedal at all they were hit by a series of jolts through their balls and cocks and dildo-filled asses. They could only take that agony for so long and soon they were frantically pedalling as fast as they could in order to avoid the jolts. If they pedalled fast enough they got some relief but it also had its perils because the dildos were connected to the pedals which meant they were driving them in and out of their asses. It was shameful and. Hmm, embezzling? So he wasn’t a murder, thief or rapist – just not very good at covering his tracks. Ideas popped into her head. Thoughts she shouldn’t be having – she knew better – but they came anyway – popping like soap bubbles into her mind. She rose from her chair and walked again – quietly this time – to his cell. Standing outside she tapped lightly on the bars with her nightstick. ‘You up, prisoner?’ It was more of a whisper than she wanted it to be but she really didn’t want to draw a.