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But later, while making my bed I saw the spots on the sheets.A few nights later, he awoke me again, but this time he was atop me, his large cock was being pushed in between my lips. “Suck it, Faggot. I know you want to.” He whispered as he held my head and pushed against my mouth. As I opened my mouth, to tell him ‘No”, it slid in and I found myself with the head of his cock, in my mouth. It was like a large soft mushroom, filling my mouth as he started stroking it in and back. Breathing through my nose, being held in his vice like grip, I had no choice but to accept his cock was in my mouth. Tasting his hot skin, I tried to relax and make the most of what was happening. Running my tongue around the head, I kept him from going too deep and gagging me. As my tongue ran over the pee hole, I tasted the strange taste of his pre-cum. Then a strange feeling struck me. My little penis was rock hard and I felt it throbbing as I sucked. Maybe my brother knew something about me, I didn’t want. She walked into the room, her shoulder brushing against his chest, and audibly gasped at its magnificence. Mounted lights illuminated the brilliant white studio, like something out of a movie, or a dream. The wall behind the readied tripod hosted an impressive catalogue of what was clearly some of Harold’s finest work, from a glowing young couple kissing on the beach to a family portrait of four generations; the breathtaking collage seemed to tell the story of his career, spectacular in its brevity. His intimidatingly professional set-up was a far cry from the pokey, makeshift studio of an amateur into which Belle had half-expected to be welcomed. Upon entering the room behind the awed girl, Harold visibly relaxed, his posture giving him the commanding presence of a person for whom no place in all the world could feel any more like home. Belle saw in his eyes the love and passion he had for his work, and for this space, and she felt humbled and privileged to have been granted access.
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