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“Well, I was going for sex slave, but now that you mention it, we did some of that too.” She pulled me closer and kissed me hard, slipping her tongue inside my mouth. I wondered if she could taste her ass on my tongue, but I kissed her back. She took her hands from my face and wrapped her fingers around my rock hard shaft, never breaking her kiss. She used her thumb to spread the wad of precum from the tip all around the head.“Mmmmmm…you’re hard again. Good. You’re amazing. Can you cum again?”

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.

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.