I can see that she is home, and that she is alone. Or, so I hope. There is no strange car parked in the driveway, just Lisa's Jeep Cherokee, black and...sleek in the soft light.I park my car and lock it, starting the long walk up to her house. The front light comes on; Lisa heard my door slam. The front door opens and she's standing there, barefoot, wearing old jeans and a T-shirt of mine that I gave her one day on the beach. I can tell that she's not wearing a bra, and the thought that her. A quick glance around the room showed the rest of her clothes neatly laid over a spare dining chair.Resting on the dining table, across the mysterious letter that had started this strange chain of events was a bamboo cane. The sort of cane that his mother used to tie up plants in the garden and the sort of cane that could be used to inflict punishment. Was that what this was all about pondered Donald.Before he could take any further action he was spotted by his mother, who immediately beckoned. ” I smiled to myself and replied simply. “I’m thinking about the hardness.” I kicked back from my desk in my wheeled chair so that my feet were on the desk. I slowly undid my trousers biting my lip, a little nervous about what I was about to do. I have masturbated at work before but usually in the bathroom, never at my desk. Closing my eyes I gently slipped my hand inside my knickers, immediately feeling the soft, warm, wet yielding flesh. Another moan escaped me as I began stroking my. "This is Bob," he said automatically."Uncle Bob?" came a male voice."Roger," he said. He almost added "welcome back to the living," but decided not to."Yeah... hi," came a voice that was too soft to be normal. Bob envisioned Roger holding the phone away from his ear. Bob had suffered his own fair share of hangovers in his youth, and phone voices seemed to cut straight into the pain centers of the brain during a hangover. He grinned. Served the boy right. "Hey, um... I guess they lost our.
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