Stuck in the rocks her legs clenched over the tentacle as it pounded her soft, pink opening. It pounded harder, and harder, then deeper, and deeper an... then valkyrie gasped as she orgasmed, the hand near her legs circling her clit as the tentacle retreated, absorbing her pleasure juices. And valkyrie rested, that was horrible, but incredible. And then another tentacle appeared in front of her, and it hesitated, then slammed down her throat, it reached all the way down her throat and tasted like. I’m OK. I was in no danger with you here.” “Patches,” talk about dredging up old memories. I hadn’t called Sandra that in years. She used to have an old-fashioned apron made like a patchwork quilt. It was another of those enigmatic gifts from Aunt Patty. Sandra had loved it and had worn it to death. Our Dad had taken one look and said, “My God! You’re covered with patches.” The name stuck. For as long as the apron lasted so did the name. I had called her that long after the apron was gone but. More

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