Your hands got into my pants and felted for moisture. As your fingers drowned in my wetness you smiled knowingly and using my moisture started playing...with my clit. Your fingers were electrical...it was a vibration beyond belief, no batteries would be able to keep up to that. As you flicked and torture my clit. I begged you for mercy with my broken voice...half whispers... half moans. You smiled and obeyed. Your finger slowed down... but it only mad things worst. My clit was as sensitive as it. It wasn’t a gender thing, Mom made all of us learn, and we each had a specialty. Mine was fried chicken, pan gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, and fresh biscuits. Allie made spaghetti and meatballs, Joe was a grillmaster. We all were proud of our dishes.” Her fried chicken was really outstanding. We had it about every two weeks.Lindsey was a blue eyed blond with a bubbly personality, a real piece of eye candy. They made quite a pair and quite a contrast at the same time. She couldn’t cook as. More

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