Thought I’d
come back and make it up to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Max stammered, finding his voice. He was right. Max was still in
Sheryl’s cunt. OK, at twenty-five, I
admit I make a decent living but there was no way — no matter how bad I
wanted pussy instead of a sock — was I going to be saddled with a
fourteen-year-old kid. I grumbled it was OK and told him to try to get some sleep. She shrugged. Sheryl was panting. I grumbled it was OK and told him to try to get some sleep. My senses were in overload. ************************************************************************
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