When she began her poem, her head bent down as usual, she mumbled. The teacher asked her to speak louder. She began again. Her voice, soft and unclutt...red by emotion, lifted each line of blank verse so it hung in the air with clarity. Because of its length the shifting unease of the typical early teen, the boundless energy restrained causing a murmur of chairs bending and sliding and papers shuffling and voices whispering increased throughout. I attended to her poem, ears taking in and mind. .? Stu was sweating as Uncle John pulled the belt off the lastloop and curled it into his hand. ?B-but I?m older now?I don?t have wet dreamsanymore.? Would this work? Uncle John was not a stupid man. Uncle Johnpointed to Stu?s waistband, and, tears welling in theboy?s eyes, the boy shook his head. ?You have no evidence??Uncle John slapped the belt against his thigh, and Stuart?s cock swelled.?You are a very potent young man, Stuart?usually you soil your sheets after oneof those disgusting. More

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