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I had to oppress a moan. He had his fingers on my outer lips. He tried to stick his middle finger in my snatch. This was very well appreciated. I shov...d my crotch against him, but it was not enough. This move got me even wetter. His hand must have been quite wet and shiny, too, I imagined. Like a guy eating fat meat with his bare hands. Yes, I really desired to feel his finger in my hole. His tiny hands worked feverish at the entrance of my slit, at my swollen lips, but couldn’t get in. The. He wants to be home.“Where am I?” he asks. His frail voice is almost lost in the patter of the rain.From behind him, beside him, around him, a voice --feminine, warm-- speaks, “Where you’re supposed to be.”Slowly turning his head left then right, he sees no one and returns to gazing into the forest. “It’s so cold,” he says. “Why am I here?”Soft laughter tickles his ear. “Because you’re supposed to be here...” responds the voice as a young woman slips around him into his view, “... with me.”The. More

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