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“No,” he said, in a neutral voice that was neither angry nor commanding and not even attempting to be quiet. “I’m off limits.” Then he made me turn around and look in the sex pantyhose mirror.
“Oh, really?” I was going for sarcastic but it came out rather pathetically, like a child being denied her toy. It was not the sex pantyhose impression I wanted to make. If some famous guy shouldn’t be using me for my body, then likewise I shouldn’t use him. Damn it all.
“Really. Let me make you feel good…” DJ said it sex pantyhose with an interesting twist of irony and something like, he thought I’d tell him no. Didn’t the guy know I’d been sex pantyhose cow-eyed over him for sex pantyhose months? Tasha must have told him. He still stood behind me, looking dead-on into the mirror and into my reflection’s flushed face.
“Can you?” The question stood as my acquiesce. The heat I’d felt earlier flared up again as DJ moved his hands like before. His fingers were sex pantyhose soft, gentle, sliding smoothly over my burning skin in smaller and smaller circles. Half the nerves in my body seemed to be connected to the flesh over which he was skimming his hands; the other half was connected to my nipples, which would have sex pantyhose been screaming if they’d been blessed with any aural capabilities. DJ squeezed, just a little, then went straight to the tips, pinching them harder than they already were, pulling and tweaking. His eyes stayed locked on our reflected images. |
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