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Lying down with rays of glorious autumnal light streaming through the bedroom windows, I was enjoying my Sunday siesta when, stirring me from my light slumber, I felt the fly of my pants unzip, my member removed and warm, wet lips and tongue make their way over the curious flesh between my thighs. I pretended to be quite asleep. She persisted. She probably knew I was up, but I made no indication of it — other than the involuntary compass pointing. She enjoyed what she was doing and then she removed her pants and eased herself down on my hard spear slowly, as if hesitating from fear of waking me.

Gingerly she ascended and descended, using me. . . and bringing herself to a dripping wet orgasm before dismounting. She then nestled next to me.

“Feel better?” I asked as if sleep talking.

“Yes, Daddio. Thank you.”

“You going to nap?”


[Excerpt from the story, “Sunday Siesta,” from the blog:]

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

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