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He wedged the head of his cock between her cheeks and, pressed blunt against the fragile aperture of her anus, he held her hips inescapably in place. Until this moment, sexplay with her brother felt as if she had awakened underwater to discover that she could still breathe, or that she were asleep and yet aware she was dreaming. However, their fun now no more just abstract speculation and her bare ass sacrificially held fixed in his grip, his scored, calloused palms parting her seat cheeks, Maggie knew with terrifying clarity that what she had meticulously incited her brother to do she would indeed next endure and that with George formidably and irreparably set sledgehammer at and in appallingly voluminous contrast to her access – her hopelessly, vainly unyielding elasticity – there were finally no tricks or curses or bullying that would stop him – her once reliably expert, scheming femininity, any attempt to exploit her brother’s love for her no longer of any consequence. She. Her head and the rest of her body fought while he softly spoke of the possibilities. She glanced at the clock. 5AM. In just 8 hours she would be serving Easter supper for 9 people. I’m up and he seems nice enough. So she pulled on some pajamas and got into her car. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as he guided her to his apartment, surprisingly close to her own home. After a few wrong turns, she finally parked and walked up to the balcony where he stood waiting for her. He smiled and hugged her before inviting her in. They stood talking for a few minutes before he laughed, saying, ‘you’re terrified. Sit down so you can stop shaking.’ She couldn’t help but laugh as she sat across from him. They sat there talking about everything and nothing, laughing and smiling for hours. She glanced up at the clock. 9AM. She stood up and walked over to his bed, grinning cheekily at him and she sprawled out across it. ‘Goodnight’ she said, closing her eyes and faking sleep. ‘Oh, I don’t think so!’.
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