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I started kneading and rubbing that area. Denise kept kissing me. Her tongue was becoming more adventurous as it went inside my mouth.I took my hand off her thigh, taking one of her hands, bringing it over on my own lap. I took her fingers, which were balled into a tight fist, and gently pried them back open, using both of my hands. I then carefully placed her hand right on my swollen dick. I was wearing my church dress pants, much thinner than jeans. I had worn them so that Clara would have an easier time with playing with my dick. I saw no reason not to try to get Denise to touch it as well. She let her hand stay right on my cock for about five seconds, even squeezing it once, before she removed it. I was well satisfied with the way this first date had gone too.After the movie was over, Denise hurried down to meet her sister in the lobby. She told me to meet her later in the lobby, but to pretend that we each didn't know the other was here at the movie until right then. I just. Meat got REAL excited, and I held my breath."Sure thing, B," Cynthia said as she took over for Becky. "You run along and play with computers or something. I'll play with this. By the way, I like your tattoo. Is that from him?" Tattoo?? Then I saw Becky touch the hickey on her neck. I get it, now."Like it would be from somebody else?" She gave me a little wave with her fingers - like girls do sometimes, you know? - and she was out the door, on her way to her C++ class in the computer lab. As if C wasn't hard enough, she was taking it with ++'s. But that's my Becky: smartest li'l bimbo in the Senior Class.Back to business: Cynthia had my full attention, now, cause she was handling Mr. Meat. He's always interested in the here and now. She pushed me back into the 'relief chair' and then placed just the head on her outstretched tongue. Her fingertips began to stroke me, lightly and almost teasing. It was an unusual sensation and I humped myself forward a little to get into her mouth.She.
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I closed my eyes and waited for the train to leave. The towel and the relief could wait a few minutes.Two minutes later, when the remaining passengers had finished their mad dashes to board the last London bound train of the night, the conductor's whistle blew and the train crept sluggishly into life. It barely seemed to move at first, then slowly gathered pace as it left the station. Once outside the canopy I could hear the incessant beat of the rain against the roof of the train. Looking through the window, the quickly receding lights of the City of Manchester were streaked and blurred in the streams of water that cascaded down the glass. As the train moved through the suburbs, gathering more and more speed as it went, the drips that had initially funnelled their way vertically down the window, gradually changed angle until they were whipping and splattering their way almost horizontally across the glass. It was while I turned my head to follow the random splatters across the.

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