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As she slipped into bed next to me, she was flushed and trembling. Her breathing was still hard, nervous and excited. I propped myself up on one arm and brushed a lock of hair lightly away from her face. I paused a second.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I ask her. She knows the rule. I can see her squirm, her body adjusting in the bed, her breath still quick and shallow.
“Yes,” she says finally. Then, a second later, “Fuck I’m so fucking wet.”
I trace my fingertips slowly down her body, watching her chest quiver as it rises and falls, until they slide softly down the top of her thigh to her knee. Then I draw them teasingly up the inside of her thigh, feeling the heat pulsing from between her legs. I can tell she’s not lying just from letting my fingers hover nearby.
“Did you fuck him?”
She gives a soft, whispery moan.
“Did you?” I’m almost taunting her now, and she knows it.
“Yes.” Her voice is hushed.
“Did he make you cum?”
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