’ As Texas Joe returned, Dober pawed the dirt behind the mound with his spikes. A twinge sizzled through his body from his right shoulder to his spi...e and down his legs. He fought an urge to rub it, dared not share a sign of weakness at this point of the game. He remembered a line from the Dan Quisenberry poem ‘Time to Quit.’. Dan was a major league pitcher who wrote about his last year: ‘a doberman gnaws my shoulder/with each toss’. Chuckling, he thought about how ironic it was: he got his. He's cute and he surely does fill out his shirt. It felt good to lean against his chest when I sat in his lap and kissed him. Her mind drifted for a moment as she imagined straddling Art and sitting on his cock. I wonder how big it is. Her hand stopped for a moment as a different thought came to her. My gosh, that's the first time I've even thought about maybe wanting to do it since my asshole father began whoring me out to those evil men. When he first fucked me, it wasn't so bad, although I. More

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