“Yes.” I had to tell Reese what happened. She called my bluff. Unlike Dr. Markson, she didn’t have to be professional. “Stop being a chicken.” “I’m not being a chicken! I have an anxiety disorder!” “Maybe so, but you spent th...
I tell him. His face moves between my thighs and his beard feels thick and scratchy. I want him so bad it hurts, but he asked me to show him, so I am. After some fumbling around and a couple moments of indecision he found his rhythm and I found mine. His tongue feels hot and perfect. But I know i...