Indian Teen Making Selfie
"I know you won."I muttered back, "Maury always wins."Anita said, "Not this time."Maury was fourth. He did a short reading from the prelude to Shakespeare's Richard III, coupled with a few lines from later soliloquys of Richard. "Now is the winter of our discontent..." He was technically correct with it, but the emotion and the character were Maury, all Maury, looking out of place with his suit and making a show of fiddling expertly with the garment and strutting about. The crowd gave him quite a hand, especially his entourage down front, and at the end he took his seat with a disingenuously humble grin of gratitude.The fifth reader was an older girl, a very pretty, Irish looking young woman with long hair and a long, flowing, but simple country dress that was very appropriate for her reading. She read two of the old maid's passages from 'Spoon River Anthology.' Hers was a heartfelt rendition that twice put a lump in my throat, and her voice was exceptionally effective. When she. I felt all tangled up for a moment and kicked. I heard the slap of my foot on flesh, but I felt nothing. I had my eyes shut and it felt like my clothes were yanking themselves off of my frame, one article at a time. Soon I was naked. I just lay there groaning. The room wouldn't stop spinning.There was tickling on my body. Fingers? Feathers? No, I decided--the wings of a little butterfly fluttering over my flesh, tickling me, relaxing me, making me moan. They went everywhere and I just lay there, grinning and giggling, and moaning sometimes. Then it felt like little licks."There's a butterfly's licking me ... Feels nice. Thank you, little butterfly."Then the tickles were on my scrotum, and fluttering up my shaft, wet flickering little butterfly wings on my most sensitive part. I was hard as a rock all over again.The butterfly was panting excitedly too. I thought that was weird.Then, all of a sudden the butterfly melted into warm wet goo, and its pretty wet warmth descended over my.
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