I worked them relentlessly vigorously, angrily even, on the aroused, ridges that I knew marked her g-spot. Harder and harder, my fingers moved as th... nipple clamp bit into me. The palm of my hand pressed tightly against her hard clitoris, stimulating that, too. It was a way of transferring my pain to her - but not as pain, but as pleasure. And she came. Yes, all the old cliches about the woman's moanings and cries for "more" are all true. How else does one decribe actuality? But this. I felt nothing could hurt me more, and it would take a year to prove how wrong I could be.Helping me to pack my things, I left my dorm room at the University thinking I would probably not be back. The school year was almost over and in the car on the way to home Mark's hand never left mine.Our parents death hit the both of us pretty hard. Over the past year they had reconciled their differences and had begun spending more and more time together. "They're dating again." as Mark had put it and. More

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