Still wearing Jake's shirt, she had built a new fire on the remains of the old one and the coffee pot was standing close by.She saw him moving. "Matzh..." she said, pointing at the fire. Jake got to his feet and went to fetch one. Then he realised that he too was just wearing a shirt. Shrugging that off, he took a match from its tin and handed it to her."Than cue," she said, smiling at him. She seemed to be getting the hang of English quite well. Sadly, he hadn't heard her speak enough of her. The headmasters profuse apologies and pleading had weakened her resolveand as part of her duties she had volunteered to act as invigilator atsome of the exams to support her old school and its worn downteachers.Having vowed never to put herself in the position of being cannonfodder for the boys again she made sure she didn't attract attention orgive the heathens anything to get excited about.So Miss Pickles had the arduous task today of watching over 9 pupils asthey completed their final Art. Throwing the other slice on top, he wrapped it in plastic and tossed it into his bag, with a bag of chips and yogurt following.With not another word, he began speedwalking out of the house, lunchbox in hand. "YOU FORGOT YOUR BAG!" he heard just as the door closed."Fuck me," he silently growled, opening the door just enough to grab his backpack, hoping his mom wouldn't say anything else."Love you, hun," his mother said distantly, eyes on the TV. "Yeah, yeah," he said dejectedly.The blush finally. And when I do, it’s only so I can tell you what I’m going to do with you. And I know you want it too - your hand is already unzipping me, discovering me without underwear just as I discover the same with you. You’re already wet for me. You always are so wet for me - and that first push of a finger through your outer lips into that incredible heat and wetness - makes me throb again. You feel it, because you’re stroking me now - firm, long strokes, building speed and pressure. And you can’t take.
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