She felt like one of those girls she'd seen on TV riding a mechanical bull. Except this was much much better. She held her tits, pinching her nipples ...ightly, and began to move.The lights had flickered a few minutes ago, and everyone had stopped what they were doing. A rumor had gone around that school might be called off for the day—the snow storm outside was pretty bad—and kids were getting what they could just in case. As far as she could tell, every student in school was fucking someone,. I never learned how. But I found out she did because she, rather than her mother, was waiting for me one day.So here I sat, with my thinnest, loosest summer shorts on, rapidly collapsing pole under the tent, listening to this 40-something female rag on me for doing the dirty with her old lady.I came, expecting to lower my shorts and sticking that tent pole into the loving, toothless mouth of a smiling, nude Mrs. Crotchy. Instead, I watched as this matronly, clothed women went on and on about. The pommel is wrong, I need a side-saddle one.”“Let us be scandalous, just for the test,” I whispered, conspiratorially. “Sit astride it.”She giggled and stepped over the saddle, and I helped her sit down. Just before she was all the way down, I lifted the front of her dress and lay it over the pommel. Sybilla gave a little squeak as she came into contact.“Perhaps you should have made the seat without the brass plate.”I scribbled a couple more notes.“I might be able to direct some of the water. Seeing whether my spy (as I came to think of him) was spying, became a bit of a ritual. One day I noticed my spy was in residence but something seemed a bit different. It appeared that a lens of some description was now inserted between the slats of his blind. It could have been a camera of some description, or it could have been a small telescope. You wouldn't necessarily pick this up unless you had been being paying as much attention to things as I had. I wondered if my spy realised I was.
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