Ken said he'd rarely have to 'try' but instead would have a throbbing hard cock before he'd enter the kitchen. She'd always look up and confirm he was...indeed bottomless and his erection was sticking up and out for her to view. At most they'd comment on the day, trivial things, the weather. Sometimes she'd tell him to lift his shirt and comment "well, it's certainly happy this morning". Ken insisted she would, on some days, try and tease or even torment him by wearing low cut tops, bending over. " Whatever," she said, suddenly unwilling to extend whatever this was. She turned on her heel and took the bag with her presents in the bedroom.He didn't follow. She was pretty sure he'd gone back to sit down in front of that thrice damned TV again.She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her hand to look curiously at her brand new dildo. She'd taken it out of the plastic packaging hastily, and hadn't taken the time to examine it. That would be all she needed ... for Mrs. Hopkins, next door,. She felt relieved in her decision. She had been unsure about how to proceed with all of it. She was scared of so many things about their long term relationship; she had just been very confident they would resolve it. For instance, she had been raised in Islam, and while she certainly rejected a lot of the radicalized hogwash, she generally believed in many of its teachings, accepting Allah as her god and Mohammad as the last prophet. She wasn’t a particularly strict observer of it, but she did. She felt the blood pulled to the nerve endings in the surface, but it was the tightness that took her breath away. The cylinder was too skinny, her nipple compressed the deeper it was pulled into the cylinder, but Michael never stopped until it felt like it was over three inches long. The cylinder didn’t feel smooth as she thought. It felt like it was lined with sandpaper. She was at least grateful that he had stopped sucking it in, but she felt the tremendous pressure around her trapped nipple.
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