Thank goodness I'm wearing panties, she thought, or I'd be spraying all over his covers. She thought about his desire to masturbate so often, and wond...red when he could even find the time to do it that many times. Getting through her job and everyday life barely left her a spare minute to enjoy a cup of coffee, let alone pleasure herself. "So I have to know, that many times a day—when do you actually do it?" Well, I'd say an average day starts with one time when I wake up, and then I find. I smiled.“The safe word, tonight,” I said, “is Rumpelstiltskin. Can you say that, Trish?”“Mmmmph!” She replied.“No, sweetie. Rumpelstiltskin!”I commenced to slather copious amounts of lube on the head of the dong, then gingerly slid my wet hand along its length. Then I kneeled on the bed, grasping her ankles and situated my knees so that the bulbous tip of the dong rested gently on her labia. I lingered there, tapping lightly, savoring the moment, slowly and silently counting to myself up. More

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