aniela verbin

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.

“Yeah, I know...” I commiserated, and now that Brucie was no longer in my way I could lean down to give her a comforting hug. “You get used to that part, eventually. Just try to relax, and focus on how good it feels filling you up. He'll start to shrink down pretty quick. You can also put your hand on your pussy, if you want, to hold your lips closed and keep him in there longer. It can help, to make sure he's shrunk down even smaller before you decide to let him out, so he doesn't stretch you so much when he does it. Just don't hold him in there too long, or eventually he'll get annoyed and twist around to nip you on your butt to make you let him go.”

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.