milagro flores

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.

Once he got accustomed to the restraints, he decided to challenge himself. He removed his shirt and began performing his personal workout. Now, it wasn’t just his muscles being strained, but his mana reserves and control. Having spent numerous lifetimes pursuing the peak of physical fitness, he knew how to fight through strain and fatigue, and push his body to its limits and beyond, but this experience was a whole new dimension of challenging. The closest thing he could compare it to was performing weight training in high altitudes and crushing depths.

“That’s what it’s going to taste like when you clean my pussy next time.”“You keep saying next time…” She gave me a fake pouty face.