Lys stuck her tongue out and tried to cross her eyes in the mirror. Dammit, why could she never pull that off? She giggled with a tiny bird trill. Wit... all this going for her she ought to be a slut. At least a prostitute. (When she once said something similar to Lyric, her pretty blonde partner licked the inside of her thigh and said, “Nope. A porn starlet,” with ‘I’ve thought about this before’ certainty. Lysette laughed it off then and never gave it a second thought but didn’t forget it.) A. Greg was sleeping on his back, one hand under the pillow behind his head, the other folded across his abdomen. Under the covers, Julie could see the outline of his massive cock, straining in its morning glory. The sight of it would have aroused her anyway. But this morning, feeling overly amorous as Julie was, it created an insatiable craving in her. She started to creep out of bed to get a warm washcloth to clean him off with. But she stopped herself. That was the sort of thing she would do. More

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