He made out the grey and silver shapes of trees, the subtle brush-strokes of moonlight providing the only detail on a black canvas. Mark Oakman had ch...cked the crime-scene log. It confirmed that everyone who had entered had also left. He was alone. Alone in the presence of the dead. It was impossible to forget that. Mark had not seen a corpse until two months ago when, during the first days of police training, he had visited a mortuary. An elderly man with unidentifiable yellow stains on his. My fingertips pushed lightly on his chest, urging him onto the bed. He laid flat, and I crouched between his legs. My ass high in the air, I took him into my mouth. The smoothness of my socks rubbing his sensitive thighs. He fit all the way through my mouth, my eyes flicking up to meet his as I worked him over.“Turn around.” He barely said. I turned so that my face was looking at the door, my ass in his line of vision. His hands scaled my legs, fingers slipping under my stretchy boy shorts. He. More

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