how old is hunter from the owl house

“Good boy, Brucie!” I moaned, pressing my titties to the floor and rapidly rubbing my fingertips over my clit. “Show Mommy our magic trick, Brucie! Show Mommy how I make that doggie-dick disappear!”

Getting to her feet, covered in dirt and sweat, Thera cracked her whips and wrapped them around Cain’s neck and wrist, then pulled. The surface of the water, solid and smooth like polished stone, became rough and sharp like a cheese grater, and as she pulled, it ripped across Cain’s skin. All of her previous opponents had suffered this fate. At best, they received epidermal abrasions similar to a bicycle accident, and at worst, their flesh was peeled off like an orange. However, Cain laughed and snapped the liquid coils. His flesh had been scoured, but it just barely. It wasn’t just the muscles and horn of a rhino; he also had their tough skin.

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.