I wasn't the stereotypical football jock that can't string two coherent sentences together. There are football players with brains. Especially quarter...backs, which is what I was.Which meant, as much as I liked sex, an intelligent conversation before-or even after-was a good thing. And I wasn't getting much of that. Despite my grades and intelligence, what I was known for was for being The Quarterback. And, because of that, what I got in the way of female talent were the brainless bimbo. Standing, I pushed my shorts down with my panties. I had just shaved my young pussy that morning. I'm not really a hairy girl, but I just think it's sexier. He eyed my four foot ten frame and I could see I was going to have to put it back to sleep. His pants bulged out in front and it looked huge. Unzipping his jeans. He pulled it through the opening. I guess he saw my eyes widen. ”Are you sure you can handle this?”“I’m sixteen, Mr. Austin,” I said, “I’ll try at least.”I stood as he kicked his. "Was er damit meint, ist klar: Er hält mir ein Wasserglas hin, und ich weiß, es ist eiskalter, teurer Wodka. Er mag es, wenn ich ein bisschen betrunken bin, und ich tue ihm gern den Gefallen, denn ich merke, dass dann ich um ein Vielfaches enthemmter bin. Ich lehne mich in dem großen, bequemen Sitz zurück und öffne das Fenster, spüre den warmen, sommerlichen Fahrwind, der in den Ausschnitt meine Bluse fährt und dafür sorgt, dass sich meine Nippel fest zusammenziehen und sich durch den dünnen. She tasted sour, tangy, it was an oddly pleasant flavor. His mouth was large enough that he could get it around her entire mound, sucking as he raked her loins with his roving organ, coating every crease of her burning vulva. Her spine arched again, her thighs trembling and her tail coiling tightly around one of his thighs as a high pitched whine slipped past her pursed lips.“There!” she gasped, “don’t stop!”He needed no encouragement, pushing his tongue deeper, tracing her delicate folds as he.