anaak jahad

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.

Carol turned me into the water stream to clear off any remaining soap. Then she rinsed the saliva and cum from her face before shutting off the shower. She opened the door, grabbed a towel and began to dry me off. She dried my back, playfully dried my butt crack, turned me around stroked my cock with the towel as she dried my cock and balls.

Everything seemed fine, but only for a moment. Valia felt something seize her mind, like a hand around her throat, forcing her to look at something she didn’t want to see. The stars she normally saw through her subconscious, those flickering lights, were brushed aside, and beyond them, new stars could be seen. However, they didn’t produce light, so much as bend the light around them, staining it with malevolent haze.