“Are you really as good as Stephie says?”The door to the house opened just as she asked the question and Stephie came onto the porch with a picnic...basket and two blankets.“He is! You’ll see! I got the basket and two cokes for each of us — Dr Pepper for me and Steve and Root Beer for you, Emily.”“Dr Pepper and Root Beer are not ‘Coke’, Peaches!” I objected.“For a guy who gets straight A’s in school, you are dumber than a box of rocks at times, Yankee! They call it ‘pop’ in Chicago. You call it. He grabbed my arm and turned me around, making me kneel on the carpet, resting my elbows on the coffee table. Then he knelt down behind me. I felt a hard smack on my buttock, and realized he was slapping my ass with his cock. Smack! Smack! Smack! "Yeah!" Mike yelled, masturbating with 'The Thing' like a madman. "Slap her cute little ass!" Frank stopped slapping me, instead slipping his erect tool into my wet slit from behind. He grabbed my hair with his fist and began pumping away at my tender. More

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