She’s so warm and wet and soft, I groan without sound. It’s lifting toward the notch between her legs, wedging there. My cock doesn’t seem to care or feel guilty, though. In all of my fantasies, all of my day-dreaming, I never knew it would be so perfect, so utterly addicting to be inside of Allie, but obviously I’ve worn her out, exhausted her, adding to my guilt. And is there something I should be doing for her afterward? Seems like maybe I should be building a monument in her honor or naming a constellation after her pussy. Why I wanted to spank her, why I said such crude things. Or why having my finger there made me so hot. Like why I want to fuck her in the ass so badly. How many times can we have sex before it’s too much? These are things I don’t know. With my heart pinwheeling, I lunge toward the side of the bed and crawl in beside her, nearly moaning out loud when she snuggles up against me, face in my throat, her smooth nudity turning my cock to stone. “Moore…” she murmurs, turning over in her sleep. I don’t know how to do that without killing myself in the process.

Part of me is so guilt ridden over the bullying, it’s telling me to have some decency, some mercy on her and walk away. What would life even be without a chance to have this girl all of my days? Can’t feel the absolute trust she grants me. She can’t see the vulnerability and affection and hope in her eyes. The thing is…Allie can’t see herself when I’m inside of her. Her body-and God willing, her heart-are another story entirely. She’s committed to leaving, I can see that. Now? Now I’m caught somewhere in the middle. Vision Insurance in the U.S: Cost-effective Health Plans for Eye Care

Breaking the bully jessa kane