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Debby Lancaster spread the loose folds of skin away from the entrance to her glistening pussy and cautiously probed her middle finger inside. She bent her head and adjusted the mirror she held with her feet, glancing at the reflection. The pink hole was now frothy with juices, due to her exploration for the past twenty minutes.
“Damn, I still can’t see it,” she said, exasperated.
She kicked the mirror away and straightened her legs. She held her breath and looked up at the ceiling as she worked the tip of her finger further inside the slippery canal.
“It’s . . . right here,” she said, touching the rubbery membrane of her virginity. “Why . . . can’t I see it?”
She again looked at the diagram in the book, wondering if, perhaps, she were built differently. Then shrugging her shoulders and tossing the book aside, she began concentrating on the delicate spasms that sucked on her finger. She had been doing this since she could remember, but only lately had it felt so good.
“Mmmmmmmmm,” she murmured, spreading her legs and thrusting her hips upward, “I wonder if this is how Bobby’s dick would have felt.”
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.