There wasn’t a prayer in hell that she was going to get me going again, but I don’t think that was her goal anyway. She seemed perfectly content t... look and touch and… ‘Sweetheart, Peanut, what the hell are you doing?’ I sat up as best I could with a ninety-pound girl straddling my knees and crouched over my dick. ‘You know, you really can’t see down that…’ ‘Charlie, how’d you get the scar?’ I froze. ‘What scar?’ ‘This one.’ Amy pointed to a place on the base of my scrotum as if I had more. " "All right," I said, reaching for my drawers. "A quarter ain't worth having to wash my dress all over again. Not to mention ironing it." I never did wear a dress or anything else, without ironing it so neat and clean and starchy. I was proud of always wearing clothes like that, no matter how much work it entailed. "Then I'll lay down, and you can get on top," he said hastily. I looked at him dubiously. "Can It be done that way?" He put his hands on my breasts, squeezing hard. "It can be. More

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