One hand eased down between the wet pubic hair, finding the hungry pussy lips. As he stroked himself with one finger, the other hand was still playin... with the hard nipples, alternating between the two nubs.Then he heard a faint noise, drawing him back to reality. This was Nochuck's ship and he most likely had spy cameras planted all over the place. The thought of recorded images of his mother masturbating herself in the shower, floating around the galaxy, brought Wesley back to reality.When. . or at least part of me was.We keep a small bottle of massage oil on the headboard, within easy reach. I sleep on his left, but I'm right-handed, so a little clumsily with my left hand, I retrieved the bottle, flipped the top and poured a healthy amount onto his head and shaft. Setting the bottle back, I used my left hand to spread the oil and slowly stroke him, simulating a tight pussy as best I could.In those early years, I hadn't quite gotten used to stroking him left-handed. It wasn't as. This was good. Noneof that sharp alcohol taste. She waved to the waitress to bring her oneand slid the nasty bourbon over to Jim.Two fuzzy navels later and Robyn was feeling great. She was swaying to themusic in her seat and really getting into the butt kicking beat. She'dmostly been conversing with Jim and some of the nicer revelers. And alltoo often she had to fend off the advances of a steady stream of guys whoapproached her. Meanwhile, Megan was the belle of the ball as everyonevied for her. No cars trundled by but a sign read Davis.It lead away from Sacramento.Davis. I liked that name.I walked north on the highway. The highway led over a huge, flooded field that stretched for miles. Farmers worked in the flooded water amid green stalks shooting out of the dirty, artificial lake. They were rice paddies. The highway ran over the miles-wide paddies, brown water lazily flowing beneath it.On the horizon, a small town lay. Davis. I kept walking. My feet always itched. I had spent most.
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