I never knew whether it was morning or evening, noon or midnight. Only occasionally did I get a chance to see the daylight; not often enough to have a... idea of the passing of time.Life at Sainte Jacqueline did not follow a regular pattern which would allow me to count the days. Yes, there were certain activities which were repeated frequently, like meals, but even there the length of the intervals between meals seemed to vary significantly. The meals, regardless of whether they were given to me. "Stroke it for me," you whisper.He complies obediently placing his fingers under the shaft, and thumb on top, closing them around it, sliding them toward the head. You watch the skin of his cock first slide along the rigid shaft, then move back as his fingers slide over the head. On the backstroke you hear the squish of the precum against his skin, and a soft moan escape his lips.His strokes look as if they are milking the precum from his cock. He stops, his cock coated and shiny, not wanting. More

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