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Dance on Air

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“Oh Brick…” Maggie was flying, her arms around his neck, one leg crooked into the brace of his crutch. “Standing? Do you think we should try it?”

“We do want to turn the truth into a lie?”

Of course she did, but his cast was nearly ready to come off. “Maybe we should just do something more…gentle,” she suggested.

“Gentleness is highly overrated,” he replied, cupping her buttocks and drawing her slowly down on his achingly hard shaft. She let out a soft squeal.

“You certainly feel…up to the task,” she moaned.

“The flesh is almost entirely willing, Maggie,” he replied, nipping her earlobe. She buried her face his neck and squeezed him with her vaginal muscles. “Maggie the cat,” he crooned. “Scratch me with those little claws of yours.”

“I wouldn’t dream of…” she gasped as he pulled out hard, then jabbed home. “…of ever….hurting you!”

“Ahh, Maggie – the hurting’s over,” he said.

And as he moved those snake-charmer hips against hers, Maggie groaned. There was, she decided, slipping an arm under her head, great fun to giving a lie truth.