On that same bed where I had learned to love more than hate during my week near Skenandoa Deep, Timber sucked on my left ball with minimal suction, then my right ball. He moaned between my legs, rolling a palm and fingers up and down on the excess skin of my erection. Three other fingers on his free hand dragged fingertips over my opening, up and down, once, twice, three times, four times, until I moaned above him.
“Stop, Timber, before I come in your mouth. Please, stop before it’s too late.”
He followed my courteous demand, pulling his fingers away from my rump’s opening. The same fingers discovered my inner thighs, brushing long strokes against my skin, meeting fingertips with hair, tight muscle, and turning me on.
As he continued to suckle my balls and stroke me off at the very same
