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er than nothing, I grabbed hold of it and Cyril
hunched toward me. I got the idea of what he was trying to
do, pulled his foot upwards (relative to me, damn, the English
language isn't set up for free fall) by raising my hand and
arm. Cyril did the same, and I was rewarded by the sight of
his erect cock floating near my face, the feel of his stubble
brushing my cockhead as it slapped against his cheek.
The room was really spinning on us now, over a revolution
a second. It didn't matter to me at the time, but my only
clear field of vision was Cyril's crotch, the room rising over
the side of his thigh at a dizzying pace.
I had trouble catching that beautiful, uncut cock of his;
your body just hates free fall. Your ear's semicircular
canals rebel against the lack of gravity; interpreting it as
though you'd fallen off a cliff. Your intellect knows what's
going on, but there's a primitive area of your mind that's
still a raging beast; it knows you're falling and is screaming
in the back of your skull.
I managed to catch his cock as it wafted past me on one
of its revolutions (nine inches long, it was spinning around
and around like a living thing, the head circl
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