“I know you’re male,” she said, running her hand over my chest, down my stomach and to my crotch. Even with as messy as I was, she fondled me. �...�And I like that very much.” She looked back up to my face again. “But we are alike.” The weight was back in her eyes. She meant something important.I racked my brain, trying to think of what she could possibly mean, but because I didn’t know her very well, it didn’t take long to come up with the same conclusion as before: nothing. Nevertheless, her hand. But use the word ‘cunt’ in the sentence. Boys, watch her face as she answers.Mrs. Waxerman’s eyes narrowed and if possible, she stood up taller. Her cheeks reddened like her niece’s as, after a few heartbeats, she replied. “My cunt is dry, sir.”“And was it humiliating to tell me that you aren’t even aroused dear?”“Yes sir, most certainly.”“So as you can see boys, I humbled her by asking a question that she should have been proud to answer in the negative. Delilah here is as wet as a used dish. More

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