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‘Uh. Y-yes…’ ‘It’s like finger painting, only the canvas is the inside of your shitty arsehole. Now pop a finger or two up there and slick it good, Betty, because I’m still counting. Fifteen, fourteen…’ Mortified, Betty buried her head in the grass and began to swipe the cooking grease up and down the long crack of her bottom. Her internal floodgates then slowly began to open, the crotch of her trampy underwear moistening rapidly, her small nipples tightening into pebbles. Her anus began to spasm, almost hungrily, winking of its own volition. ‘Ten, nine, eight…’ Finally, Betty ventured to push her index finger inward. Her sphincter constricted defensively. Unnerved by her unforgiving time constraint, she pushed again with double the force, finding this measure incredibly uncomfortable yet necessary. ‘Ugh!’ she let out, her forearm tensing as her finger finally snuck past her airtight pucker. It slid up to the second knuckle and then halted. At first she felt that familiar burn, but. Jennie wasn't feeling nervous about it at all. Before the last week, she would never have had the nerve to do it. And it certainly wouldn't have been Mike Sweeney that she would have been calling."Hi. Yes, no one gets home for another hour or more. Anyone home at your house?"Mike couldn't believe she was calling him. No girl had ever called him before. He hoped she wasn't going to tell him that she changed her mind about walking home with him tomorrow, after school. He wished he hadn't shot off so quick, and on her skirt too. She must think he's such a doofus. Maybe she wants to come back over though."No. You do know not to say anything to anyone about today, right?"Jennie felt a slight thrill run through her pussy at the thought of a bunch of boys standing around listening as Mike described what her breasts had felt like, and then telling them about her asking to see his dick, then touching it too. She reached down and cupped her mound through her jeans."I told you I wouldn't. No.
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