She remembered all the humiliation - from the first cock sucking under hypnosis to the taste of her brother's cum - still there - in the back of her t...roat. She was feeling so ashamed. Her brother, her friends, her teachers, everyone had taken her for what she always knew she was: a slut, a whore, a mere depository for anyone's cock cum and pussy juice. She couldn't cry. And she couldn't laugh. This was exactly what she knew she deserved. All she could do was wait in the dark and see what her. .It's her, my heart pounds, she's ten houses down probably naked or half. Sent at 10:24 pmHer: hey there my big cocked boy ;)My cock stiffens to it's maximum level. I can't even think of what to say..Sent at 10:26 pmMe: hello there...I wait for what seems like ever, maybe ten, twenty minutes later..My phone goes again. It's her. But unlike normal, she attached a picture to the text of her in the apron she showed my earlier, her pussy is completely visible, her tits are practically popping out. On the shelves were the underwear, socks, shoes and various other items I did not have a clue as to what they were for. (Now why couldn't they have selected one of each for me and brought them to the back room?) No fun in that I guess! Betty asked me, "Ricky look around my shop and tell me what you observe and what you think about it, please?" What? Okay, so I did and noticed that the women and girls had a lot more to choose from. The choices for the men and boys paled in comparison! I also. She was, literally, one in a million, a genius for her time. She'd galloped through all of the classes they'd let her take, until one day she was a University of Dhergabar graduate cultural anthropologist. Only later did she learn that if she'd ever shown any interest in a technical field, she'd have lost her memories and been returned home at once.But she hadn't.While she was a beginning university student, a Paracop conveyor had picked up a hitchhiker on Fourth Level, Hispano-Columbian.
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