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”“Yes, but that was at night. It’s daylight now.”“So! Nobody is going to see us. Trust me.”Missy finally started to remove her clothes. I watched her take each item off because, well, because I wanted. Missy was so pretty. Every inch of her. There was no fat on her body at all. All slender and curvy. It was her breasts that made her though. Tiny, perfectly round breasts with perfectly shaped pink nipples that made them stand out. They were so naturally firm, Missy did not need to wear a bra, ever. It was safe to say, she would never sag. And what was between her legs was just as perfect, but still, it was her breasts that made her so damn sexy. I could see why my brother loved her.Missy caught me staring at her as she removed her clothes and said, “I always knew there was something different about you Sherrie. Now I know for certain exactly what it is.”I smiled and said, “Well, you have room to talk. I mean, you kissed and gave me an orgasm today in the girl’s bathroom.”“I had to know. It had been many long years since she had smelled a cunt other than her own. The scent made her mind spin, and the desire to press her face between those smooth thighs was very strong.The girl, looking down at Joan, gently pulled her head forward. Joan felt the curling hairs tickle her nose and lips and chin, then the girl pressed her cunt downward. Joan’s lips made contact with the wet cunt, and her breath caught in her throat. She held the girl’s ass cheeks in her hands, and with a wild growl, pulled. Her face smashed into the girl’s cunt, and her lips opened, her tongue darting. The wet taste seemed to blister her lips and tongue as it swirled around the girl’s distended clit.“Ooooooooo that’s good, Joan!” the girl mewled, twisting her hips and grinding her cunt into Joan’s mouth. “Mmmmmmm, kiss it for me ... kiss my wet, hot cunt!” Joan, her mind whirling with lust, sucked at the hairy lips of the girl’s cunt, drawing juices from her pussy. Her tongue flicked and darted. Her.
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If thewish's price was to strip him of his virility, he would emphasize it.The following afternoon he picked up his two-handed sword and returned tothe indoor practice space. It felt heavier than usual, and in less thantwenty minutes Fergus was too tired to continue. He wasn't feeling oldagain, nor did he feel weak. His muscles simply weren't strong enough tocontinue swinging the weapon, and even lifting it took serious effort.But just because he couldn't practice with his heavy blade didn't mean hehad to give up the sword altogether. He switched to the smaller, one-handed weapon he'd been carrying in the city and continued practicingforms and footwork until night arrived, the sweat pouring down his bare,hairless chest.Days passed, and Fergus wasn't certain if his attempts at maintaining amanly ritual were helping. He couldn't remember the last time he'd neededto shave. His body remained taut, but the definition of his muscles wasmostly gone. Worse, his pectorals were starting to.

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