She had a definite twinkle in her eyes. A memorable dimple in her cheeks. A slender wrist and long fingers with bracelets that clattered as she brushe... a hand through hair that was brunette or blonde (and no longer merely brown or fair). An ankle that was pleasingly slender and a knee that was impressed on my memory as firmly as if it were impressed on my groin. And the time came when Ydobon changed no more. Or only by increments. Her hair-colour, her complexion, her small pursed lips, her. He acted as though it was a bad thing, that it was his fault and that he had sone something wrong. I assured him that the fault was mine. That seeing him touch himself had gotten me so horny I couldn't help myself. I asked him if he liked it. He hesitatingly said he did. I asked if he would want to do it with me again. His eyes got wide. He looked at me with his mouth half open and just nodded his head. Then I dropped the ball about Daddy wanting to watch. My son looked terrified. I assured him. More

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