She knocked on the door almost impatiently. Someone answered it and then Jordan went inside. What kind of help did she expect to find? What was the he...p for? The only rational, if somewhat questionable, idea I could come up with was some form of therapy, but for who? For what? For me? For the scars on my back? No, that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t mentioned anything about needing therapy when we talked. She didn’t seem to have any problems that needed therapy either.I looked at the house. Her face was slimed but she was happy, not for the goo but for the getting of it.Hands that had been supporting and caressing her, pinching and probing, were withdrawn. Michael leaned in and helped her to her feet, kissing her gently on the back of the neck - her only dry place - murmuring how proud he was of her, and how sexy she looked while sucking cock. She could tell from the sounds around her that the men were recovering, stroking themselves back to life. The ice was broken, and after a. More

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