The sensual feel of the stockings on mylegs, the wickedly erotic thoughts running rampant in my brain, wereoverwhelming my feeble efforts to return to...a flaccid state. My delightat wearing stockings for the first time was simply too much. And it wasoverpowering my will.Lisa saw my discomfort, saw also how my manhood was straining at the cockcage to the point where the very tip of my gland was forcing its waythrough the small opening at the end of the plastic prison. She gave asoft, knowing. But of what did that share consist? What part had he played in the tragedy of hatred and murder? Had he played that part, which ended in the sacrifice of his life, voluntarily or under compulsion? Who, when all was said and done, had served as his accomplice or his executioner?All these questions came crowding upon the minds of M. Desmalions and the others. They thought of nothing but of how to solve them, and Don Luis could feel certain that his solution was accepted beforehand. From that. More

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