My cock seemed no worse for the experience apart from a superficial wound on my foreskin and my job done I dressed and prepared to leave. Read 28845 times |
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I managed to get three fingers inside her, “Am I anywhere near?” I asked. “Dear god!” I protested as I pulled it out with trembing fingers, “There really was a splinter!”
“Oh my hero,” sister Martha said, as she stared at my damaged cock, “Let me kiss it better.”
“Ram it back in her cunt juice is a great healer,” the elderly nun opined and it did seem the most sensible measure so I did. It was only two or three miles and with the Ostler gone home it was less trouble to walk than get a horse saddled. “No,” she said, “You need something longer.”
“I have tweezers but I can’t see.” I admitted. His cock was suffering from brewers affliction and bent as he tried to force it in her, slipping out twice before a burly yokel loosed his fly to release at least a foot of solid man meat.
