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She moved a step back and drew one of her hands up her side. ‘Watch me caress my breast.’ Her fingers floated over the smooth skin down from her c...llarbone and veered into the valley between her mounds. Her eyes closed. ‘I can feel how your hands touch me, a man’s hands, but gently setting my nerves on fire.’ Her fingernails drew slowly tightening circles around one breast. When they arrived at an areola, she changed to using the pads at the tips of her fingers to caress the pink pebbly skin,. And they lived happily ever after." This is my autobiography though. There are a few similarities, but there are mostly differences between this and stories:The "they" is a terribly inaccurate simplification. In most stories, "they" is a guy and a girl. For me, it's not even a guy and several girls. There are trillions of me and hundreds of billions of my loved ones, many of whom don't know it yet as I'm only just starting to contact them. That's a LOT of "they"!The "lived happily" will be. Aroslav: Slow down, Tony. You're panting.TONY: Yeah. You know how I get. Just talking about this stuff makes my fingers itch.aroslav: So you felt the—what's Doc call it?—connection?TONY: I made the connection. You know, feeling it is something that came later. I think feeling implies something conscious. Making the connection is subconscious.aroslav: Have you noticed that sometimes you talk like someone much older?TONY: Oh. You mean I'm pretentious?aroslav: That's not what I meant...TONY: I. But I was happy to serve him, to be his sex slave. I like to be dominated, to be treated like shit. I reached his house by 10. I was dressed in his favorite top and called him. Hee opened the door grabbed my hand and pulled me in.As soon as I was in he locked the door. All the windows and curtains were closed. Ahmed was just in his boxers and I could see his semi-erect dick. He pressed me on the door and started kissing me. He grabbed me by my neck and pulled me to the sofa.I was requesting him.
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