poppy prescott age

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

She enjoyed even this feeling as her dad’s leg hair rubbed against her shaved legs. She wore only a night shirt and a pair of panties, so she got to experience the warmth and feeling all the way up to her thighs. She raised one of her legs up and over his own without even thinking, hoping to wrap around his big tree trunk like leg. Doing it as carefully as possible so as not to wake him, she tilted on her side and got her right leg over his being careful not to put too much weight on him. Sarah wriggled in delight at the feeling, a big hot and hairy leg that tickled her every time she moved, from the tips of her toes to the inside of her thighs.

“Let’s see…” She draped the towel over my rapidly stiffening cock. It didn’t fall to the floor. “I’m impressed,” she said with a smirk. “You’re going to be ready to play again in no time.”