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She’d never been so wet. His teeth pressing harder, sinking into her swollen nub, making her stomach clench and her body tighten. She didn’t dare to move, to speak, to breathe. Please. Please. Please.He released her.The memory was intense. Olive’s fingers were relentless against her swollen pussy until she came like she’d never stop, gasping his name as she writhed through the pleasure. When she finally felt able to move, her phone buzzed with an incoming text.I’m so so sorry for tonight. I promise I’ll make it up to you.Olive stared at the words, then replied It’s ok even as her eyes filled with tears.Did he really love her? The nagging doubt made her insides twist desperately and persisted. Maybe she was just one in a line of many affairs. It was easy to let the thoughts take hold when she was alone. Easier to believe he didn't really care. He made the same promises every time. Built up her hopes and dreams and then always found a way out. She could see it from an outside. It wasn't flowers but it wasn't unpleasant either. As I smeared the fluids over my fingertips I remembered another consequence of the accident; the doctors told me and my parents I would never have children. As I wiped the issue of my brothers' balls from my pubic hair, I was thinking that was a benefit just then. It was close to dinner time so the three of us got dressed and went to find Albert. I was paranoid as hell thinking that somehow he would see that I just fucked my family but he acted glad to see us, not judgmental or suspicious. About two hours later it was getting dark and Sam suggested we go back to our cabin before the wolves or bears came after us. We said good night to our host then went straight back because we knew what was waiting; more whiskey and sex but this time there was no urgency to strip naked and jump onto a bed. Clark, Sam and I pulled out our Scrabble game, opened the bottle of Crown Royal then settled down to play. There was still more than a.
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. when I can. It's a hobby though. I like playing stuff like Hendrix, Dylan that kind of stuff. I'm no good at that really wild guitar playing stuff you were doing. Much as I'd love to be able to do that stuff... 'Taking a swig of beer I shrugged;'People prefer to hear songs though. If you just piss about with solos and that type of stuff people will get bored very quickly. The only people who can listen to that type of stuff all the time are other musicians. And believe me even they get hacked off with it.'He nodded and we both took swigs from our perspective drinks. His looked to be harder than mine. From the smell of it, bourbon. I was the one who broke the silence this time. Stretching out my hand;'My name is Alan by the way.''Michael.''Nice to meet to you Michael. So what brings you to Paris?'For the next twenty minutes we talked, mostly about music. Michael was reticent to talk a lot about himself except that his full name was Michael Pitt and he was in Paris acting in a film by.

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