But,I also had an urge to take hispenis in my hand and get it hard again so we could have sex again. Ilicked my lips as I wondered what it would taste...like. It had felt sogood as it had pistoned in my vagina.The urges were almost overpowering. The thought that I was a man onlytemporally in a woman's body enabled me to control my actions.Tom wiped himself with his handkerchief. His sperm was already drainingfrom my opening and ran down between my buttocks to stain my silk dress.During my sex. Maybe three. Her hair, like his, was cropped and white. But a hairdresser had been involved with Mabel’s do. She was short, not much over five feet tall. Chesty, very much so. A prominent bosom followed the maître d’hôtel as he threaded his way through the dining room to my table. Cyrus hitch-stepped to keep up. He made the intros, smiling, proud of her.Once our waiter — she was wearing the formal black and whites of the 50-year old steakhouse — had taken drink orders, I asked Mabel, “How did. More

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