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“Your Holiness.” Damian said, his voice deep and rich. He held out a hand, a hand covered with lines and amateur veins, a hand that teen looked like a much smaller hand was meant to fit within it. I laced fingers with that hand, and I felt the callouses, the roughness, the strength; the gentleness, the protectiveness, and the comfort. I reached out my other hand, and Tom’s fingers interlaced with mine, forming a seal of warmth around my palm. I looked up, and there were Jericho’s forest-green eyes, brimming with understanding and sympathy. “You’re so beautiful today, Your Holiness.” Jericho smiled his radiant smile, daring to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. I stared into those pine eyes, those crowfeet that creased their corners, those subtle lines that smiled beneath the lid. God, did they look familiar. Sister Julia, you wretched bitch. I cast my eyes downward, afraid to connect them any longer, ashamed to have dared their depths to begin with. I found the paternal mark all nymph males bear when they’ve sired a child, a downward-pointing triangle just below the masturbation navel. It was turquois instead of lavender, like my father’s mark had been. “What’s her name?” my voice was air. “Lillypetal.” Jericho replied. “How old?” “A little younger than you, Your Holiness.” “Kiss me like I’m your Lillypetal.” I whispered the words from trembling lips, more of a plea than a command. My pupils stared from the tops of wide, black eyes; fearful, shy, but hoping. I tasted his breath, felt the seal of his mouth part against mine, felt his stubble graze my cheeks as his body encased my own. His lips pressed softly, his tongue touched me tenderly, cautiously, like a father succumbing to the body of his daughter. Like how my father had kissed russian me before the end. They moved on me, and I let myself grow weak against them, let their strength surround me, their hands sliding softly, respectfully, lovingly. Rough palms caressed my bare arms, slid under the straps of my dress, trailed down the length of my spine. "Who can I tell? "Don’t you think I'm sweet?" “Oh, my son, you are a dangerous one, aren't you?” she asked. Yeah, but it wouldn’t be like that: forceful, dominant…manly . Eventually, over the two disparate voices arguing in my head, I became aware that my ass was painfully sore. He swatted russian her pussy with the crop, a resounding SLAP echoing in the room as amateur Mira screamed, instinctually closing her legs. A careful girl would have refused. I said well if nothing else we had some food, and talked, and we have plans for a Steak Dinner tomorrow evening. "This isn't a detention. When Mark and I had planned this week, we decided no real names. "The doubt I'm feeling isn't just because I don't fit the standard. We came back around and kissed each other -- all those wonderful tastes and smells -- gently caressing each others' breasts and pussies. To tweak the mayor's social mores. Danica was killing me. She masturbation made me feel like I had never been touched before. And she disturbingly hears herself saying Bras scattered aimlessly. They were hot for each other and would be frustrated if they couldn’t. When teen I reminded her of the deal we made with Mac, she said she’d ask Angela if it would be alright if he was included, so I gave her my approval.