(Except the boys from St Dominic's, destined for celibacy and reputed not to have 'boys' bits.' I'm also not talking about those other times in the month whose feelings happily lie far outside the scope of this story).I longed to know what boys' different bits were like and just what their connection was with my own deep-inside tsunamis. Soon my fingers learned to tend and grow those primitive feelings into sophisticated and fulfilling bedtime experiences. As my fingers explored, I suspected I might be nurturing blossoms that a boy's fingers might bring to even juicier fruition. If I ever knew the right boy, I'd share those feelings lavishly without reserve. I wondered if I'd be able to divine which boys felt the way I did. Would I instantly recognise my counterpart?Three weeks into college I did.Frank was everything I wanted. And he wanted everything I yearned to give. My imagination had prepared wonders for him, and he, at his boys' school, was just as sex-starved as I'd been.. Her breasts were generous and juicy. They sat high and proud on her chest and had an undeniable natural look and feel, heavy and ripe and a lovely natural teardrop shape. Her nipples were thick and pink and pierced through with twin silver rings, making them stand out all the more proudly from the tips of her breasts. Her waist was slim and slender, with just a touch of feminine rounding to her belly that added to her sensuality rather than took away from it. Her hips were abundant and round, and her thighs shapely and solid and sleek, tapering down into surprisingly long legs for her height. Between those supple thighs, Alice’s cunt was bald, plump, and already glistening with the sticky proof of her arousal. The young married woman dropped to her knees in front of Roger, who caught the gleam of the steel collar around the woman’s throat. “My service is yours, Sir.” Roger stared down at her for a moment, drinking her in. She knelt well, balanced on the balls of her feet with her.
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