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“My puss is so sore. I had three sets of hands on it today.”

It took me a moment to decipher this statement. I knew she was with Hunter in his truck, and of course my hands had been on her, but. . . oh, right — her own hands. Duh.

That didn’t stop her from straddling me that night, bouncing up and down harder and harder on my cock — telling me how wet she was in the studio watching Hunter and me play our instruments, how she wanted to get on her knees and take two cocks in her mouth at once, have us both cum on her face, and then go back to jamming while she licked up every last drop, have us do it again — until she finally squirted, raining her cum down upon me.

The fact that she gets to do this, and masturbate frequently, and have Hunter finger her until she cums (repeatedly), and then she gets upset at the fact that Hunter got a blow job from his wife, or upset at the prospect of my jacking it without her being present, really is uproarious. When I confront her about it she simply says, dismissively, “I don’t see what’s wrong with it. It’s called a double standard.”

“That’s right, you have a double standard!” I say accusatorily.

“So? Fiddle-dee-dee. It simply means I have twice as many standards as everyone else.”

I roll my eyes, exasperated.

[From the blog:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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