Debby Waymire

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I was standing over him as he lay on my bed. His T-shirt was ruched up, and I could see the golden stretch of his stomach, hard and flat above the waistband of his shorts. Suddenly, his legs shot out, and he hooked them around the back of my thighs, locking them together. He smirked as he held me there.
Oleander: A Great Expectations Reimagining
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