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"I sure do?" I said. Thank you she said as she guided my right hand toward that divine junction. I felt that grand patch of hair as she spread those wonderous legs. "Don't you ever wear panties?" I asked. "Not anymore when you are around!" she giggled. "A" deflty guided my hand to her magic furrow and my middle digit explored for her opening. "Easy she said, go in slowly." Soon my finger disappeared into her fun spot. She wimpered and moaned a little as I went in further. She put her head on my shoulder and I felt her breathing on my neck. Soon a warm moisture engulfed my finger and I moved it quicker. "Oh, Oh, Oh that feels good, don't stop!" she begged. This went on for a couple minutes, I guess and she was so moist down there I even heard a soft gurguling sound around my finger. She shuttered a little and fell towards me saying, "that sure felt good!" I slowly extracted my finger and was unsure what to do next, so I licked it off. "You nasty, nasty boy," she. As shewas showing me different aspects and tools of the trade. We passed bywhat she called the crossdressing room. We looked for awhile andexplained what types of training occurred in there. I thought forced Femwould be cool but she didn't have to know and we could finish the tourand finally I would go home.But she was way too clever for that as we finished in that room I couldsee out of the corner of my eye, a drawer cracked open. I left the roomwith her to venture onto the next, something she called a nursery. Maybeplants and flowers in a garden and above shackles. I thought ofdifferent things in my head. She was moving at a fast pace, not sure ifshe ducked around a corner or what. She was gone.So I ventured back into the previous room. I had to see what was in thatdrawer. I held up the most beautiful set of panties I had ever seen.They were pink satin with lots of lace on the front panel and a thong inthe back. I thought, this must be ass floss. Curiosity was overwhelmingme at.
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Morocco Cyril, seventeen years old, a soldier of five year’s experience. Alek had known Cyril’s father, Antony Cyril, for over twenty-five years. The man had given his life for Alek. * * * ‘What is wrong, my heart?’ asked Eefit. ‘I just killed a man,’ replied Alek. ‘Why, that’s wonderful news! What was his rank?’ ‘A private in the Royal Armies of Aidran, son of Antony Cyril, martyr to the life of Megamus Aleksys.’ ‘Oh my god….’ ‘Strangely, I don’t think he would help me now.’ ‘What are you going to do?’ ‘What can I do? This has gone on too long. It’s time to end this fighting. * * * Alek knew where to find Bal Han, and he entered the encampments alone. A group of several soldiers tried to stop him, but he carved his path through them without a second thought. ‘I challenge you to end this, Bal! Enough men have died for our strife!’ In this proclamation, one could almost see the face of the boy with whom we have already been acquainted. Bal Han’s reply: ‘I kill your army, and you.

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