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Even with the big parade it only took about three hours to reach our destination. Taachachi took over the women to get a camp set up.Cowta wanted to help me with the fence but I asked him to just stay hitched to his Remington and be the main lookout. The long walk had been hard on him with his damaged leg and he wouldn't have to move too much to stand guard.By now I was more interested in getting a horse ready for him than I was for myself. With a horse to do the walking Cowta's mobility would be restored, or mostly so. He'd become one of my main men, along with Biltee, and anything that helped him get around helped me.My first trick was cutting a sapling to use for measuring off posthole placement. The noise was an attention getter but it only took about five seconds of work, counting starting the damned thing up. I measured it off at ten feet, gave the saw another few seconds of work, and then fished out a long roll of twine.I stood in place where I wanted to start the fence and. I looked at the clock on my cable box and suggested that she take a shower before I had to take her home. She giggled and agreed that it was probably a good idea, but only if I would join her. It’s not like I was going to refuse that offer so I showed her to the bathroom. We stood under the hot water washing each other. Her silky skin felt great as I washed every inch of her tight young body. Okay, maybe washing is the wrong word, more like groping with soapy hands. It felt even better as she washed me, her petite hands explored every inch of my body, and left nothing untouched. By the time she finished “washing” my cock I was rock hard once again. She turned away from me and pressed that nice firm ass against my shaft. I pushed against her back until she bent at the waist and reached for me from between her legs. She guided my cock towards her entrance and I easily slipped into her wet snatch. One of the few benefits of apartment living is the near endless supply of hot water. I.
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The more senior faculty were able to teach smaller graduate classes in their areas of specialization. It would be some time before Taylor worked his way to that level. Until then, it was broad undergraduate survey courses as far as the eye could see, and maybe Intro to Shakespeare if he was lucky. The class now quiet. 100 empty seats facing towards a whiteboard and small wooden lectern. He made his way quickly to the front of the class. His heart was pumping, hoping his phone would be sitting idly on the lectern where he'd been standing, attempting to engage his students with the S&M kinkiness disguised as religious piety in the poetry of John Donne. Sex sells, as they say, but only to the first few rows of ass-kissers and overachievers. Most of those in the back merely tolerated him as a mildly annoying distraction from Facebook and text messages. "Don't get your hopes up," Craig had told him in his first semester. And still, Taylor had persisted in believing in the fantasy of.

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