Annette Benson
In planning a most debaucherous Saturday evening, I move the special reclining chair to the basement then retreat to my bedroom. Peetie sees me beginning to disrobe and knows to retrieve Willies hood. When I am in dishabille, Willie is made sightless. Those are the rules. For the neutered Peetie, his eyes can feast on my feminine charms all he wishes. His smoldering desire will not change the fact that his plundered scrotal sac has transformed his innate, once potent lust to nothing more than ridiculous idolatry.
He gapes at my well-trimmed mound of Venus. What do you think you can to do with it? I am tempted to derisively inquire, but I resist.
I know that my overlarge c******s invites his tongue, his only functioning s*x organ as far as I am concerned. So I mockingly
