The honey-blond – still slightly guilt ridden – teen slumped onto the edge of his bed, careful not to sit on his laptop, and leaned forward toward...his acquaintance with forearms on his knees. “Ok, shoot. What’s got you so anxious?” Dillon wasn’t 100 percent sure what this was going to be about. The number of times he’d spoken to the guy man-to-man before today could be counted on one hand, but he had a pretty good feeling.“We’ve, ah, spoken,” Theodore divulged, staring down at his hands.“So?. Please..."The old one looked around, and his eyes stopped at a butter box (for bread)...he smiled....reached out. It was soft, half melted by the sun. He started to play, again, with your cunt. It was swollen and glistening. No need for butter there, I thought.He was good, this old man. You worked with him, and the younger one did loosen the grip. Your arms fell down to the ground, but you still lied there, in kind of a "muslim praying position", butt up, face down. The older one guided one of. More

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