He rubbed his fingers over my lips, up and down, moistening me, preparing me for his intrusion. Steve watched him as he placed his hand back up on my ...eft breast and started to twist my nipple. Carl was looking deep into my open legs, moving his fingers around slowly and firmly, applying pressure, working his digits into that tight, warm hole. He inserted them. He thrust them deep into my pussy and kept the pressure firm. He looked up at me, holding his fingers inside me and pushed further. So every day I showered sweat and cum off my body and, when needed, cleaned the carpet. But it turns out I was wrong, my erotic jogging problem was not due to a twisted sexual fetish, but because of a Nymph. Diomede the Nymph to be precise. I know this because one day I met her. That fateful day I was jogging through the forest and I heard singing off to the right. I looked over and spotted a woman hanging by one hand from the branch of a tree. It's odd that I noticed the tree, because she was. More

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