Memoirs of a Wrestler – #2

I remembered Ms. Stewart all right.

She was a blonde in my sophomore year. A blonde with unusual tastes, or so it seemed to me before I had seen more of the world.

I remembered how she cuffed herself to the radiator and looked back over her shoulder at me expectantly.

She had on black – black heels, black stockings and a black g-string. I was used to girls in jeans or cutoffs.

I remembered how it felt wrapping her hair in my fists and pulling her pussy back onto my cock – the inside was so silky and so tight at the same time.

Jesus.

I remembered letting go of her hair with one hand, and beginning to push into her ass with my thumb.

She looked back at me again and said: “You’ve got a brother too, right? Wrestles 187?”

“Actually,” I smiled at her with my teeth, “there’s 4 of us.”

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