Kyle's Story - Book Three
Copyright© 2024 by JTrevor
Chapter 21: Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 21: Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall - Love, such a small word but with so many big emotions attached to it. As everyone knows, falling in love quite often involves plenty of “making love” and that is something Kyle is definitely open to explore. Come with Kyle for more fun and adventure as he continues to navigate college life. New characters and interesting situations are presented, some of which will have Kyle realizing that his studies into human psychology will be more than he originally imagined.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction School Workplace Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys
“Gray-Floyd Glassworks & Mfg. Ltd. – Liverpool” That is what it says, right? I take a second long look into the corner of the mirror to be sure I’m reading this correctly.
“What’s up? You gettin’ a zit on your forehead or something?” Aaron snickers from behind. Distracted from this most unusual discovery, I almost forgot he was even in the room.
“It’s nothing,” I shrug, “My, ahhh ... My Grandmother had a mirror like this ... and I was seeing if it was the same.” A sloppy lie, but what else am I supposed to say? I don’t think blurting, “By god, would ya look at this! Here’s the same kind of mirror, that could be an otherworldly portal, known to demonically possess people,” would go over very well as a testament of my sanity. Aaron would probably ask for some of the funky weed it would appear I’ve been smoking.
“Ah, here we are,” Mrs. Havelina rejoins us, carrying a silver serving tray with cups of steaming hot chocolate.
Taking one, I say, “You have a beautiful house, Professor Havelina.”
“How nice of you to say, Kyle. Thank you.”
“Do you know when it was built?”
“Why, yes, I do,” her face brightens at my interest. “It was built in 1909 for one of the executives of the Manistee-Frankfort Lumber Exchange, a major supplier that lasted until 1952. When Mr. Havelina and I purchased the home 17-years ago, it needed a lot of work. Much time and expense were invested to arrive at how you see it now.” She’s proud of this house, and who wouldn’t be after all it must take to keep it up.
“It shows,” I nod, looking around. Off to the side, I notice Aaron rolling his eyes, he’s convinced I’m being a major suck-up and kiss-ass to Havelina; he can think as he likes, there’s more to all of this. “I like that mirror, is it original?”
“To the best of my knowledge. It was with the house when we acquired it. I’ve seen similar ones in other historic homes around here, so my guess is they must have been common.”
“Have you, or Mr. Havelina, ever felt anything weird, or experienced something you can’t explain? Especially regarding that mirror?”
“If you are asking if this house is haunted,” Mrs. Havelina chuckles, “I can assure you, it is not. As for that mirror,” she laughs again, “I try not to look too deep into it these days, I’m certainly not the spring chicken I was 30-years ago.”
We stayed another 15-minutes to finish our hot chocolate. Mrs. Havelina was curious as to why I had so many questions about her fireplace mirror. I gave her a short synopsis of the Cobb Road House, playing it off that I was researching for an assignment in my Creative Writing Course. She admitted she had heard of the house and the incidents, but that was all. She figured it was mostly local legend and folklore sensationalized for the benefit of a good campfire story.
Walking back to the dorm, my pocket vibrates, I had my phone set on silent while I was in class and forgot to turn the ringer back on. “Where are you?” a perturbed sounding Abby asks, “I’ve been texting and texting, you never replied.”
“Oops, sorry. I was at Professor Havelina’s house. She asked for help with moving some furniture.”
“Do you want to go to the Cobb Road house now? We’re in the car and can pick you up.”
“Sure. I’m on Cedar Street coming up to Main.”
“Wait at the corner, we’ll see you soon.”
A couple of minutes later, Abby pulls over to the curb and I hop in the backseat behind Caroline. The last time we went to the abandoned house, we walked across the overgrown fields past the party spot by South Hill Park, we’ve never driven there by way of the roads. I look up the directions on my phone’s G.P.S. “Okay, this should be easy,” I tell Abby, “We need to go south, to the end of Main and turn right like we’re going to the Marketplace, but keep going west and out of town.”
About a mile out, I tell her, “Okay, make a left onto Route 4, go another mile and the next road should be Cobb, where we’ll make another left.”
When we arrive, Abby parks in the long gravel, snow-covered, drive. We don’t see any other tire tracks, not that we expected to. In the waning, afternoon daylight, the house still looks imposing, but not quite as foreboding as it looked shadowed in full dark.
“You weren’t kidding, this place is a true creep-show, look at this wreck,” Caroline mumbles, getting out of the car.
“Someone’s recently been here,” Abby points out fresh footprints in the snow on the rotted front porch, “They seem to come from around the back of the house.” I follow them around the side and see that they lead to the fields beyond, the original way we traveled to get here the other night. Odds are, these were made by Jack.
Entering the house through the front door, we take a quick look around. In front of us are the stairs leading to the second floor and the open doorways to the first-floor rooms are on each side. I remember the last time, we started our exploring by traversing a loop through the rooms to end up back here. It’s different now to be able to see everything, instead of only what was illuminated by the flashlights on our phones.
Caroline is eager to check this place out and goes into the formal dining room on our right. Kicking pieces of rotted wood aside, no doubt from the floor above when Jack and I fell through, she uses her foot to clear the painted pentagram on the floor for a better look. “This is so creepy-fucking awesome,” she says, snapping pictures with her phone. “I’ve only seen this kind of sinister, occult shit on TV before.”
Noticing the two painted sixes in the center, she asks, “Shouldn’t there be a third?”
“A third, what?” Abby asks.
“A third six to complete the number of the beast?”
“There was,” I answer, “It was a brass number from the address on the wall outside. Jack took it for a souvenir.”
“Wow, cool,” Caroline remarks.
“Kyle! Look up,” Abby points over our heads.
Yup, I guessed right. Above us is new wood spanning the large hole in the ceiling which is the bottom side of the second floor. Jack did, in fact, build a bridge to get closer to that fireplace up there. “Let’s go check this out,” I say walking over to ascend the stairs.
At the top, we go to the first doorway on the right. Jack must know a little something about construction, he laid the 2” x 6” boards on their sides for strength, like floor joists to span the opening and then nailed plywood on top to create a sturdy walkway. I put my foot on it and bounce a little, it feels solid.
Okay, time to find out what is so damn special about that mirror, other than the fact it’s the only one still intact in this house. I walk out on the platform bridge first, then wave Caroline and Abby to join me, having them cross one at a time. We didn’t want to take the chance of putting the weight of all three of us in the middle at once. Sound-looking, or not, it’s not worth the risk of another fall to the first floor. I’ve already been there, and done that...
“Are you guys feeling, or sensing, anything weird?” Abby asks.
“Not really,” Caroline shrugs, “Just stinks like musty old ass in here.”
“I’m not either,” I tell Abby, “Why? Do you feel or sense anything?”
“No...” she shakes her head, “Other than the general creepiness of this place, and the strange effort Jack put into reconstructing the floor. Why would he do this?”
“That’s a good question.” When I look in the mirror, my reflection is there, but it’s slightly different somehow. It could be that the glass is old and has imperfections causing this; although, it looks smooth and perfectly flat. In the lower right corner, I see what I was expecting to see, small etched lettering in the same scrolling font as in Professor Havelina’s house. This mirror also came from Gray-Floyd Glassworks & Mfg. Ltd. – Liverpool.
I show this to Abby and Caroline, “Gray Floyd!” they both say in unison.
“I saw something like this at Havelina’s house, she has the same kind of mirror over her fireplace, same vintage, brand, and everything-” I catch something out of the corner of my eye and stop speaking to take a closer look at my reflection. Pulling the top part of my jacket open, I slowly ask, “Do you two see what I’m seeing?”
Abby and Caroline both lean in. “No ... I just see us. Why, what are you seeing?” Abby nervously asks.
I pull my jacket open further. Underneath, I’m wearing one of Dad’s old concert t-shirts, in big letters across the chest it says METALLICA. “Look at my shirt.”
Caroline catches it, “It still reads ‘METALLICA’, shouldn’t the letters be reversed in the reflection?”
“Exactly!”
“How weird...” Abby murmurs. “Let me get a picture of this,” she pulls out her phone and takes one. “Guys, look at this,” she says, examining the pic. There’s the three of us reflected in the mirror, but my shirt now reads ACILLATEM, Metallica reversed as it should appear. This picture is NOT as we are seeing this!
From behind, we hear, “I didn’t build that to hold three of you, might want to step back over here ... Where it’s safe...”
“Jack?” I say, turning around and see him standing in the doorway, across the bridge. When did he get here? I’m sure we would have heard someone coming in after us. Who knows, he could have been here the whole time, perhaps just around a corner. “Can I ask why you built this?” I ask, tapping my foot on the new wood.
He’s clearly uncomfortable and looks up, and around, and down, anywhere, but directly at us, “Just ... just, come back over here ... Like, right now!” More evading questions and I’ve about had enough of this little game from him. It’s obvious he does not want us standing between him and this mirror, maybe I can use this positional advantage to finally get some answers.
“I think you underestimate your carpentry skills, this bridge feels pretty solid to me. Why not come over and join us, tell us about this mirror?”
“Oh, it’s solid ... No, it isn’t ... It’s solid for me, but not ... not for you. Y-You three best come over here ... like I said, now.”
“It is? It isn’t? Which is it?” I ask like I’m casually making conversation. Caroline, for once, is keeping her mouth shut and observing, but Abby shoots me an apprehensive look of why am I toying with him like this.
“Look...” he drops his backpack and it poofs up a small cloud of dust. “You shouldn’t even be here ... I’ve told you everything I can.”
“You haven’t told me jack-shit, Jack!” I quickly reply. “I want to know what you find so interesting about this damn mirror?”
He says no more, just stares at us, well, more like straight through us and frozen in a trance, it’s so weird. “Kyle, I don’t like this,” Abby whispers, grabbing my arm.
I walk across to take a closer look at Jack’s face. Normally, this guy is cheerful with a lovable kind of goofiness that makes him fun to be around; today, he’s completely blanked out. His suspended expression reminds me of trying to watch a YouTube video when the WiFi goes out. I can almost see that stupid incomplete circle endlessly turning; to me, it always looked like a small snake chasing its tail as it attempts to load. I wave my hand in front of his eyes, nothing.
“Hello? Are you in there?”
Nothing.
The girls come up behind and Abby takes a close look as well, “This is so not normal...”
“Let’s ... let’s just move out his way and see what he does,” Caroline whispers.
We ease around and into the hallway behind Jack, allowing him a clear path. He finally breaks his statue-stance by reaching into his pocket to fish out something, it’s the brass number six, his precious souvenir. Keeping his hands low, he passes it off to me like a covert street-corner drug exchange. In a strained and barely audible voice, he hisses, “Use this...”
Confused, I take the six as he walks over his structure to the fireplace, to his mirror. And ... that’s all, he just stands there ... stands there and stares into it. Is this what he’s been doing here for hours and hours, days on end? Staring into that pane of antique glass with its backside coated in silver?
Whatever Jack is seeing is more than odd, non-reversed letters on his t-shirt, he has some sort of other-worldly connection going on. Over his shoulder, I can see myself reflected and standing behind him. A weird sensation of ultimate calm washes over me as I’m finding myself with a growing fascination with all of this. I already know he won’t give up any information to explain what’s really going on, so I’m thinking I should move closer, look deeper and find my own answers.
It’s becoming a dizzy-like, slow-burning need-to-know ... I need to know so I’m in the loop, in the loop with Jack...
Yeah, maybe just a little peek ... just a little sample...
I take a step ... This should be okay ... perfectly okay ... I think so anyway ... I’ll just go stare like he is for a few minutes, then come right back. I don’t need the full-blown experience, just enough so I have an idea...
Crazy? Nooo ... It’s not crazy ... I ask and answer myself, Is it...?
One would think a mental red flag that things aren’t quite as they should be, is when you need to convince yourself that something you’re about to do is “not crazy”, but all too often, such pesky naggings are ignored in favor of curiosity. It’s that old and bold, let’s go where I’ve never gone before drive. I take the step expecting to experience something new, but instead, I seemingly transport into a familiar memory; a time and place I’ve been before ... I no longer see Jack, or my reflection, or the mirror, what I do see fills my field of view and makes me smile...
I see snug fitting blue-jean-clad female hips with the “Y” crease at her crotch front and center.
Talk about the silliest things popping in my head at the oddest times; I know this image and I already have an idea where my brain is going with it, to be honest, it’s kind of an embarrassing flash memory for me. Why this recollection and why now? I’m curious though, so let’s see what I can learn from the night Abby found me at Northbrook:
It’s Labor Day Weekend and we’re at that overcrowded house party on 4th Street. Loud music, loud people, and way too much beer. I’m sitting/slouching on a couch to observe the scene when that cute girl from over by the wall comes to stand in front of me. I remember it was like she just appeared, appeared out of thin air and how she positioned herself super-close because there were so many people, she utilized the only available floor space by standing between my parted legs.
Rather inebriated ... hell, let’s be honest, more like fuckin’ wasted, I didn’t immediately look up at her. Instead, my attention fixated to where her legs meet and I instantly homed in on her special area. Maybe because it was in such proximity, but I swear I could feel her sexual heat emanating from within and was thinking to myself, “Oh my god, I’ll bet a million dollars she’s beyond an exquisite sweetness!” My horny mind works quickly and I recall how I was crafting beautiful imagery of what this unknown girl’s ‘sweetness’ might look like. Dreamy visions of an impossibly gorgeous pussy were dominating my thoughts just like her pelvis was dominating my view.
The girl speaks, she’s asking, “Kyle Stevenson? Is it really you?” At this point, the vision fades to white ending the scene...
This entire snapshot memory just presented itself in what felt like several minutes of salacious ogling of Abby’s pelvic region, but, in reality, this whole thought process took place in a mere fraction of a second.
Okay, is this what the mirror wanted to show me? Was it trying to point out that I’m capable of being a little sex-driven pervert because I briefly fantasized about a girl’s pussy in a matter of a split second? Hell, what guy hasn’t had thoughts like that every now and then?
Something tells me this is just the beginning and it wants to take me further...
I guess I should let it, I’m too curious now...
Still in the hazy white, I’m sensing something with my nose ... I know that scent, I experience it in the happy times of sex, it’s the earthy-sweet aromas of a female flower and I fan my nostrils to take in as much as I can. Now I’m sensing taste, a taste I know well and one I only get to enjoy when my face is wet and rubbing deep in the softest of silky heaven ... My view of fuzzy-white is now that of fleshy-pink, details are blurred because of the extreme closeness and all of this adds up to something I truly love:
Oh, yeah! Here we go! It’s pussy in my face time! Beautiful pussy, all for me and pushed in my face!
It’s Tiffany and she’s so up-close and personal, the tip of my nose is parting her labia majora (the anatomical term for outer pussy lips). I remember this, it’s the day I was home on suspension for fighting with Dirk Larch and recovering from sustained injuries. Tiffany skipped her afternoon classes to come over and show me some unexpected, and very pleasant, bedside manner. This was the first time she got naked for me and explained how she freshly shaved her pussy that very morning with the hopes that she could show it to me.
She liked how I finger-tickled her favorite spots, but I’ll never forget how ecstatic she was when I asked her to scoot up, spread her thighs and sit on my face. Pushing down and rubbing herself all over, I have fun with my tongue on everything between those labia majoras. Her moans of pure delight had me doubting she ever had anyone suck on her clit like this. Being completely honest, it’s how I am, I wanted my mouth on her as much as I loved hers on me.
I can feel her weight pressing as she begins to grind, she smells wonderfully wet and tastes divine! “That’s it, Tiffany, push it down and rub it in ... Oh my god, I’m loving this ... Mmmmm!” Wow, such an intense and crystal-clear reliving of an awesome memory! This sensory overloaded realism blows away any spank-bank mental replays by a long shot.
Licking and sucking, poking and munching, I love how this fun I’m having feels so good for her. Tiffany’s high-pitched squeaks accompany her thigh squeezing orgasm on my face. If her bits weren’t slick and slippery enough, we now have the addition of several warm surges of her pussy fluids, talk about sloppy fun at its best!
As her body relaxes and composure is regained, the scene fades and Renee appears. Here she is sitting naked and legs open on that old forgotten sofa in that apartment we painted. I tell ya, I sure loved that old couch! Not necessarily for its cum-stained cushions that hosted my bare ass on several occasions, but for the fond memories of having my first sex on it.
Renee is sitting invitingly spread-eagle for me, she’s clearly in need of my special oral services. Wow! I sure adore her dark blond, curly pubic triangle, it so perfectly frames her glistening slit, what a turn-on! With her fingers, and deliberately slow (just to tease), she spreads herself open to show me how pink she is. Could I be any harder when she taps her finger on her clit, then slowly slides it down to dip it deep inside her hole, saying, “What do ya think, Sport? Do you wanna eat this?” Boo-yeah, Baby! No need to even ask that question!
Whoosh! Diving right in, I’m welcomed by her slightly musky, but pleasantly arousing genital aromas. I can tell it’s the end of a workday in that hot Pizza Depot kitchen and Renee wants to feed her guy one delicious pussy-pie. As I eagerly indulge myself in this delicacy of feminine delight, her hands grasp at the back of my head, gripping it tightly and holding me down on herself. For some reason, I’m having no trouble breathing, slight suffocation can occur when my mouth and nose become too immersed in the Little Man’s boat. When this happens, I’ll occasionally need to, “come up for air,” as they say. Today, this is not an issue; apparently, I can stay down for as long as I want.
Her flowing juices bathe me wet as she lifts her legs and wraps them around my back. When I suck on her hardening clit, Renee’s trademark extra-loud moans of pleasure permeate the place as she pushes herself at me. I swear I can hear the distant thumping of the Kransen’s in the next unit pounding on the wall; ah, fuck them, scream louder Renee! I love it that my licking and tasting delivers euphoria that makes her throw her head back and holler in delight; this confirms I’m doing right as my mouth goes wild, eagerly eating her up.
Renee’s orgasm builds and builds, and when it peaks, she clamps her legs in over my ears and uses both hands to push my head firmly against her pussy. I can feel her twitching muscles drawing in, pulling my nose and tongue inside even deeper. It’s like her pussy is trying to swallow me up! I find humor in pondering who’s eating who! As her moment diminishes to huffing breaths, she pants. “Oh, Sport ... WOW! I needed that! Thank you SO much!”
“Anytime,” I reply, catching my breath.
As with Tiffany earlier, the visions of Renee fade; when I re-focus, it appears that I’m on my back and on a bed. A smooth inner thigh swings over my head, lining up yet another delicious-looking pussy for me. Pausing to pose above my face, she gives me a nice, long, close-up look at her feminine genital attributes. Wow, everything about this girl sure looks tasty to me.
Descending, her lips part, revealing the succulent pink inner-folds settling onto my nose and mouth. Her radiant sexual heat tells me she’s more than ready, it’s like she’s been patiently waiting for her turn on my face. Welcome to The Rub-n-Ride sweetie, take all the time you need, mmmm ... I crack myself up!
Everything about this vagina is absolutely wonderful; but it’s also unfamiliar, this is confusing me. The timeline dictates it should be my favorite, it should be Abby’s, but I know it’s not. I can feel a slight roughness of shaven pubes starting to grow back and this girl’s scents and flavors are totally new to me. To solve this mystery of who she is, perhaps some further, and in-depth, investigation is what’s needed...
I’m hearing those unique small, wet, close-confined, eating/smacking sounds as I taste, detail, and explore her; this is truly my favorite way of learning a pussy. Extending my tongue inside her canal as far as I can, I can feel her Kegel muscles clenching, grasping at it to pull it in even deeper. Even with her working my tongue, I notice that this girl’s hole isn’t quite as tight as Abby’s. Could it be because I just ran my cock up in here and we’re following a good round of screwing?
Following the fun of fucking my tongue in her hole, she shifts slightly to position her niblet between my lips. Sucking on her clit, I feel it harden as she lets out one long happy moan of, “Oh-ohhh ... You are really good at this! Nothing beats a good pussy-guy, and you sure know what you’re doing!” As much as I’m enjoying this, there’s no doubt this girl’s fun button is not Abby’s. Yes, I really do have every meticulous detail of my Abby’s pearl memorized, her entire pussy for that matter! Lord knows how much I love having my mouth all over it.
Once again, breathing is apparently not a necessity, I’m really like this aspect for lengthy and uninterrupted face-buried-in-pussy time. Being that this female’s crotch is planted on my face, I still can’t see who my ever-wettening partner is. She has her hand on me, wrapped around and gently pulling, “Mmmm ... You have a great pecker, I like it.” Still trying to solve this riddle, I deduct that none of the girls I’ve been with (as in, had sex with) have used the term ‘pecker’ with any regularity. Renee may have on occasion, but it can’t be her, because she never shaved off her pubes, just keeps ‘em trimmed. She’s proud of her patch. So, who is this chick offering her juicy bits while playing with mine?
With another stroke-n-squeeze, she nonchalantly asks, “Mind if I suck on this?” My affirmative nodding head underneath her body is my answer. Her pussy grinds down on my mouth as she leans forward to take me into hers. She must have long hair as I feel it drape over my thighs and fall in between, tickling as it surrounds my balls.
Her kissing lips feel wet and smooth slipping over my head, “Ahhh-yesss,” it’s high time my throbbing cock receives some much-needed attention. After several loving and lip-smacky sucks on my glans, she slides all the way down, taking all I have deep inside. Feeling her chin pushing on my pubic bone and her nose brushing my nut-sac means one thing, she has every bit of my length engulfed, engulfed to the root! Judging by the ease she just welcomed me, it’s clear this girl has experience and knows exactly how to host my entire stiff penis into the warm confines of her mouth. Could this person be Leona, the celebrated Super Sucker of Northbrook?
One thing is certain, I could enjoy hours of her going down on me like this! Hours is probably unrealistic as each passing second brings me closer and closer to a full-on eruption. I hope she’s okay with me shooting white creamy, because with my mouth covered, I can’t exactly warn her when I’m about to and, it’s gonna happen soon! If this really is Leona, then it’s okay, she’ll expect nothing less than a huge ejaculation flooding her mouth with semen.
Several good sucks, and long pulls, later, she releases my penis to lazily say, “Mmmm ... You taste so good, Kyle. See, I told ya you could trust me and I’m not pulling a prank; just enjoying your pecker.”
At that moment, it hits me, this girl 69-ing me is Alyssa, one of the four people that pranked Marc, Jeff, and I last summer at Fucker’s Pond! They lured us to skinny dip with them and then took off, taking our clothes with them and leaving us to drive home naked. She was the friendly one of the group with long, dark-brown hair. (That must be the long hair I felt tickling my thighs and balls while she was sucking on me.)
When we crossed paths several weeks later, she apologized and said she had no idea what her friends were going to do that to us. She also said she wanted to, “make it up,” to me. Deep down, I guess I’ve always wondered if I shouldn’t have been so skeptical and took Alyssa up on her offer to continue our touchy-feely in the privacy of her bedroom. I remember how soft her pussy felt when she let me finger her under the water. Although, by that time last summer, I was pretty involved, and having lots of sex, with Renee. But still ... a guy can wonder...
We ended up exacting our revenge by having my former work buddy, Eric, and his rowdy friends crash, and trash, their lame-ass apartment party. The last words Alyssa spoke to me as I was leaving was a heart-felt, “Wait, Kyle, I really do think you’re cute.”
So, what exactly is this impromptu, mental sexual safari I seem to be embarked upon? Is it memories and fantasies combined? Sure seems that way. The sex with Tiffany is how I remember, but, while I certainly went down on Renee plenty of times, I don’t recall a time when the crotchety Kransens were beating on the wall while I had my face in her pussy; technically, that wall pounding incident happened when we were fucking. And, now I’ve just experienced a vivid sexual scenario with Alyssa? That, for sure, never happened, only in the realm of possible speculation. Even in this mind-altered, dream-state, that I don’t fully understand, here I am, once again, over-thinking and analyzing everything!
Following three wonderful appetizers, it’s time for the Main Course. Like glorious angels singing and stormy skies clearing, here it is! So vibrant and pink, so perfect and delicious, so silky and succulent, it’s my Abby’s beautiful punani nestled between her milky, silky thighs spread wide and just for me. So very ... very inviting! At that crazy party when I first envisioned her having an impossibly gorgeous pussy, I could not have been more right; to me, Abby’s vagina is undeniable female perfection at its finest.
Mesmerized, I watch as the petals of her heavenly flower are opening, opening with the golden light of the early morning sun, opening for me to come ... for me to slip inside and cum ... Her voice is whispering angelic, “Put yourself here, Kyle ... Right here ... Push it in and cum ... Come ... and cum all day-”
An outside distraction of someone calling my name is as unwelcome as my mother coming home too early and walking in on me screwing my girlfriend on the family room couch.
Stop! Not now! Go away...
Not only is the sight of my Abby’s inviting pussy beyond arousing, but I also want to engage with all my senses-
“Kyle.”
I said NOT NOW! Stop interrupting!
The information my senses are receiving sends charged pulses down my body, past my abdomen, and straight to my super hard-
“Kyle.”
Listen, whoever the HELL you are, get the FUCK away!
Kissing her soft lips is making them twitch, she’s giving me pussy-kisses my face, I like that. Gently spreading her with my fingers, I extend my tongue to slip it inside and taste her sweet-
“Kyle!”
Leave me the FUCK alone! Or, I swear I’ll-
“KYLE!” Abby shakes me.
“Huh? What?” I violently shrug her off and gain my bearings.
Wow...
My mind was wandering all kinds of crazy just now...
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