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rustration and
the sheer depravity of doing it with a dog contributed at least as much to
the mind-wrenching quality of my orgasm as the purely physical stimulation of
Zeke's big cock. It wasn't until well after Zeke was finished that I came
down enough to turn my untidy sprawl across the bed into a seat on the
footstool.
I rested there for a minute, six pairs of eyes studiously avoiding mine.
(Zeke I didn't count. He was in the corner, licking his cock clean as it
retreated into its sheath.) When I felt steady enough to stand, I grabbed
the towel I had abandoned on the floor. "I'm going to the bathroom to clean
up," I announced. "When I come out, I expect my clothes to be outside the
door waiting for me."
I didn't want to take the time for a full-fledged cleanup. I just
rinsed the worst of the flows of semen from my legs, promising myself a
thorough wash when I got home. When I left the bathroom, Number Three was
standing there holding my clothes.
"I didn't want to just leave them on the floor. That didn't seem right,
somehow," he said, handing them to me, and ignoring the dirty look I gave
him. He handed me my money belt
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