She followed after and apologized for being so coarse. She said she had always been more into reality than Susan. I told her that it was OK. I’m gla... she felt free enough to talk straight. I didn’t mind and in fact I liked it. Misty chuckled. Susan came out of the bathroom, her hair still wet. The flannel shirt fell down to her thighs, but there was something sexy about her being nude or just panties under my shirt. Susan asked what we were laughing about. Misty told her what happened. Susan. When I was out, she was looking at me making direct eye contact. She had a wonderful haunting look about her. Her shoulder length hair framed her beautiful face. My guess was she is about fourteen, maybe a year older. Her young body was just starting to develop. Her breasts were showing and her hips were starting to take shape. All this was supported by her long lovely legs that were well developed.We kept exchanging looks. Now I found myself thinking about her. I had never had any interest in. On how many occasions had we fucked over the course of that fateful year? It must have been hundreds. None of my boyfriends had ever figured me out in the way he had. In a way, I blamed him for the dire state of my personal life. He’d ruined me. The sex had been way too good.*The first time. His office. A small, square room just off the English corridor. He had a desk, a computer, a bookcase full of lever-arch files and a silver filing cabinet. There were three chairs lined up in front of his. I kept at it for about ten minutes until I could feel my whole body start to shudder from pleasure. Then, just like that, I erupted into orgasm, squirting all over the bed sheets.Still shaking I tasted myself on my fingers. Tasting myself always makes me feel so nasty and I love it. I finally got out of bed and started to stretch. I reached for the ceiling and held my arms up for about a minute. This gave me a clear view of my naked self in the mirror and it made me wonder what people would.
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