“Shouldn’t be doing, what?” You ask in disgust as you shake your hand, stinging from the fresh blow. It has been a while. But now the memory of the pleasure of giving cross-dressed slut boys begins to return and you feel that familiar buzz return. You begin to quiz me like the stern teacher I had in fifth grade whose favorite activity it seemed was having me stay after school for lectures, interrogations about how I was a “bad boy”, and spankings. It seemed like I stayed after school a lot.
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