He smiled at my description of the flag-football games and the pizza parties, like he was recalling his own college days. I don't know if he noticed, ...ut not once did I call him John. When Suzanne entered the room we rose and greeted her like we were seeing her for the first time. She was wearing a long dress that had to be new. It was dark red, dipped low at the neckline and flowed to four inches above her black shoes, showing just a hint of her ankles, covered by dark stockings. Her neck was. Tight on their shaft. The lust in their eyes. The animalistic rage. Male controlled by the cock between his legs, wanting only one thing, me. My pussy. My insides. To taste me, to touch me, to be deep inside me, pounding, pushing. My fingers are not controllable now. The thoughts making me wetter by the second. I trace my stomach, watching my fingers lead a trail down to my smooth lips. My finger slips though the first fold, and grazes my button. It sends a shock through my body. My. I started to sweat, not knowing how much more of this I could take. She shifted her grip on my dick, and actually started to move her hand. Grasping and releasing, gently squeezing, then moving. “Does it hurt?” She whispered.Oh God, she was awake! My mind reeled at the question. “Huh?” was all I managed. “When it gets that big, does it hurt?” Again she squeezed gently, and started moving her hand up and down slowly. “Uh… no, not really.” I couldn’t believe that’s what came out of my mouth. Not,. I suppose that I should have left a note describing what I proposed, but I didn't. I rinsed out the bottle I had been given in the rivulet, adding a sample of the original spore culture to its waters. Then I stripped and had a nice soak in the sun-warmed water. I figured that adding my scent to the mix might cause a reaction, but I didn't know what would happen. I rose, dressed and left, assuming that the forest mind would take a season or more to analyze the tastes I'd given it. If I was.
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