His index and his middle fingers were just stubs. Any one who has ever played the guitar knows the significance of that. I felt as if someone had hit ...e in the stomach. Up to that moment in my life, I had never felt such sadness as I felt upon seeing this sweet Southern guy who had lived to play guitar, now without those two precious fingers so necessary to create the guitar sounds that everyone had loved and remembered. I was devastated. Even at 16 years old, I wanted to cry. Perhaps at that. There were quite a few times that he had a reason to be in my office or I found myself in his – just the 2 of us, with the door closed. He wasn’t a bad looking older guy, I’m a slut so I didn’t mind any of it. I encouraged most of it then allowed things to happen. The casual touches became more lingering, the occasional little ‘stroke’ became more frequent and the occasional pat on the bottom became less rare. I dressed to encourage him.My slacks became tighter (in all the right places), I had. I'm also wearing stilettos that's click hard when I walk, so as I slowly walk over to you, all that is heard is the sweet sound of inevitability. "You think you can handle this?" I ask. You reply "get on your knees, bitch. You do as I say" and grab me by my hair and drag me down to your raging hard cock where I proceed to suck on you. Soft and just a little tease at first, going down a bit, coming back up, making eye contact with you every time I get to the tip. Then you decide you're tired of. With one sharp thrust you bury your cock deep into her, your hands lift her large breasts out from the basque and you pick at her hard nipples as you start to build up a slow fucking rhythm your cock squelches in and out of her forcing her juices to run down the cheeks of her arse. You now suck on her tits as you fuck her harder and faster, the pace quickens and she whimpers loudly biting her lip to muffle her cries as orgasm after orgasm rips through her body. She wraps her legs round you high.
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