anita torres

There it was again. Laying sleepily on its side on a bed of hair while his balls hung loose between his thighs. It was almost as if they were sleeping too. She was almost sorry that she was about to wake them up.

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

Don't you worry about it I'll save some room for your last words After I do this, do that, and the third Disturbing the peace Look into my eyes Now tell me the things You're blabbing about behind my back The tenacity I hold It's hard to break down It's too late for apologies It's going- Some things may break me But always get back up New perspective gained From all the pain and stress And when I do come back I'm stronger than ever before So, kneel down Disturbing the peace Look into my eyes Now tell me the things You're blabbing about behind my back The tenacity I hold It's hard to break down It's too late for apologies It's going down.