I return my attention to your clitoris, each stroke dead-centre. You can’t decide whether it is pain or pleasure, the nerve-endings screaming in yo...r head for me to relent. The incessant tapping becoming unbearable and relentless, my fingers keeping your lips parted, ensuring your clit is fully exposed. You start to see flashes of light behind the blindfold as your orgasm begins. You feel popping in your head and your lower body begins to tremble. Tap-tap-tap. Your hands grasp your ankles. Marshall, and Mom, whose name is Naomi, was a Professor at a Junior College not too far from home. I was a pretty normal kid growing up, with the exception that Mom put me behind a piano when I was five, which, is part of what this story is about, but I’ll tell you more about that in a little while. ~~~~~~ Around the age of eleven or twelve was when I began to look at girls differently. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t an idiot, and I knew all about the birds and the bees, but I just felt like. More

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