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The feeling was overbearing but I had to stay quiet. With my other hand, I began to squeeze my left breast, making little circles around my nipples, and ending with a slight pinch. Reaching back a little further, I began to put pressure on my ass hole, with my middle finger, over and over. It was just a small thing I did for a quick stimulation. My clit was aching with pleasure, like it had it's own hear beat, and my legs began to tremble. The machine was done. I began to work up what spit I could, not swallowing any of it, until I was done. With little time, I began to furiously rub my clit, as I leaned over the coffee filled mug. With a long strand of my white saliva dripping into the coffee, I began to get closer and closer to cumming, but I had to stop. Getting a hold of myself, I lowered my skirt back down, and took the coffee to Mr. Chamber's office. “Here you go sir.” He quickly thanked me before gluing his eyes back to the computer screen. Returning to my desk, I could see. He seemed to have lost the ghetto hustling ways and antagonism toward the whites that marked his first year, and now was quite at ease among his peers, with only an occasional snarling jar in his drawl to betray his former deprived background. He quite naturally lorded it over the mixed members of his band and was accepted as a gifted Director-Producer in the Drama Society. Though he had a small coterie of fans, he didn't appear to give his time to any of the girls who were wont to hang about the auditorium when he was in rehearsal. He seemed eager to have Maryon in the play and fussed about her when she was ready to try a reading and audition for him, as though wanting her to make a good impression on the others involved who would be hearing her. Properly briefed, she went down to the auditorium one evening and let herself be shown out onto the stage. To add a touch of authenticity to her try, she'd brought, and now wore, a black micro-mini skirt and an old, flowered,.
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