My fingers squeezed her breast and pinched her nipples and I could hear her thighs rustling as she rubbed them together, trying to relieve the ache in...her cooch. Oh, Lord, she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath. Please. I need it. My little pussys so hot and wet. What do you need, sweetness? Your pecker. It came out as a whisper, her cheeks flaming red. Then in a loud, smokey voice, she declared, I need your pecker to fuck my pussy! Then bend over that there box, I told. I'm not a psychologist but after spending a whole week talking to this guy it doesn't take a degree in psychology to tell you his brain is so far out to lunch he's having breakfast." I agree," Candy confirmed. "This guy is one totally screwed up dude." I know," I answered sourly. "But just the thought of that guy still breathing air pisses me off." Yeah, six feet under would certainly be better," Jen agreed. "But do you think there's any possibility of getting him to tell where he buried any of. More

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