The pied shaft drooped down at 45 degree angle, and if it began at my elbow, it would probably go past the tips of my fingers. “Hmm, I dunno Lucy. XXX Dingo had his head over the stall fence, eyeing us curiously. A quick groan from him broke the silence, and my heart almost stopped. I moaned into his hand with every thrust, kissing and licking at his palm without thinking. I bared my teeth at him, hating him and loving him at he same time. But it was nothing; maybe the windy knocking of a branch against the shed weatherboarding. “I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about,” Dad ranted, shaking the newspaper. I stretched my neck to put my lips by his ear, my torso slipping like oil over his sweaty back. I gave in to the feeling, loving the slow, slippery motion that stroked up towards my tip.
