Just like every other child in the world, Tamara had been taught that touching herself was wrong, and that you would burn in hell for it. Smiling to h...rself she rubbed her nipples anyway. It wasn't that she really cared, she was aethist after all. No one would tell her she couldn't enjoy the fullfillment of her own lush body. Biting her lower lip to supress her own moans, Tamara continued to tweak her own nipples and rub them. What she wouldn't give to have someone else doing this very thing. Your school was good, your grades incredible, your brother was coming back and your parents were awesome. You felt a swelling of pride at having everything seem to work well. There was such beauty in the world. Skipping to one of the nearby benches, you came to a stop, dropping your pack next to the bench you stepped over to the nearby fountain, sipping away at the water as if your life depended on it. One bad thing you had going on was you frequently neglected to drink enough water to keep. .the Miranda Collington...my dream girl through so many of my teenage stroke fantasies and half the reason for my obsessive stocking fetish (my hot mother being the other half), "N-n-no is not in my vocabulary." That's because you are a male-slut," she accused playfully as she squeezed my cock through my jeans. I tried a witty comeback when my mouth was shut by Miranda's luscious lips. Miranda was an enigma. She was beautiful, powerful and confident, yet not a stuck-up bitch like all the high. "It was my pleasure to be of service," he said with a grin, pitching his voice to sound playfully formal. "Here is my card." He presented her with his calling card, not his business card. A business card seems to obligate reciprocation, establishing some kind of quid pro quo between the person giving and the person receiving it. His calling card had his personal information, elegantly engraved, as an offering of trust to her, nothing expected in return."Mr. Franklin, it is nice to meet you, but.
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