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It is a path I’m not sure I want to walk down.Again, the tap, tap, tap of your foot. No other sound, no words, no expression. Yet, of course I know ...xactly what you want.No impatient demands or gestures, just a barely there simmering haste in your eyes, flickering like the light in a petroleum lamp on a cold winter's night, confined in a safe glass bauble that you created.I want to smash the fucking glass, even if it sends the house up in flames.But before I can act on the crazy you grab hold. We waited until around midnight until I saw a vehicle approach sporting a missing headlight. It was Cory and as he got there, we simply walked 50 yards across into Canada onto a parallel road, got in and we started the long drive back up to Dawson Creek. We had pulled it off for now. When we arrived back at Cory’s cabin late that next afternoon, we had to carry both of the exhausted girls into the cabin. Then it hit us, where would we sleep. Cory only had one bed in his cabin. Cathy, being. I'm going to doit as fast as possible, but that means more pain. On the plus side itdoes mean it will be over sooner."She picked up a small box and took out something that at first glanceappeared to be a band-aid. She rubbed it between her hands and peeled itopen. She put one half on the side, took the other and applied it to myface, about where my left eyebrow was. "Sorry," she said and pulled itaway again. It felt as though she had ripped half my face off and Iwould have screamed if my body. He tickled the bone in my ankle and skipped it down to my toes and up the arch in my foot. The pattern was repeated in reverse up my left foot and leg. Finally the feather was back at the juncture of my thighs. Where I wanted it most. I was breathing spasmodically, twitching like a madwoman, out of my mind with need. Dave dropped the feather lightly on my mound. He twirled it gently in my neatly trimmed line of pubic hair. The feather mingled and lightly tangled in the hair. My stomach.
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