Lacing my fingers in her hair, I held her head still and raised my hips to her. She seemed to like this because when I stopped, she asked for more. So... I was eager to complied. When my hips couldn’t function any longer, I layed still, and worked her head. Taking my other hand and wrapping it back around my shaft as she stroked me with her mouth. Mmmm…. One hand on her head, and the other on my cock. I held her head still with just the tip in her mouth, and stroked on myself for a few minutes. . It was useless.Hands re-entered from the darkness and I saw the needle. I tried in vain to escape its approach. A tear came to my eye and trickled slowly down my cheek. I thought I was watching a movie in slow motion. This can't be real. It came up to the left side of my neck and a hand on my forehead turned my face away. I felt the prick as it was pushed easily into my neck then withdrawn. I was stunned.For a few minutes nothing happened.The first thing I noticed was my mouth was no longer. It became my routine to drop the two at school at six-thirty and then join Dave for breakfast. Occasionally, that meant joining him in bed. Life was good.Until a month before Whitney’s sixteenth birthday.Being early risers, Whitney and I tended to be lights-out and asleep by ten. I’d picked up the galleys for a new book we were producing on home financing and sat in bed glancing at the formula for computing PITI just to see if my recollection was correct before I turned out the light. I think I. Fumbling, she found the zipper, pulling it down to reveal the visibly pulsing bulge in the front of her husband's white jockey shorts. She worked his jeans slowly down the long muscular legs.Kicking off his shoes quickly, John nudged the whole bundle to the side of the couch, his eyes never leaving his wife's strangely smiling face kneeling in front of him, his hands still lightly twisted in the silky auburn hair."Skin my shorts down," he continued. He watched as she reached for his hips, her.
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