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A young woman with special powers confronts a man on a plane.
He moaned as his cock throbbed involuntarily, then its tip started to drool more copiously in his mouth and his whole body started to tremble. His breathing became ragged as the leaking flesh began to shake. Then he realised he couldn't let go - didn't want to let go. His mouth clamped tighter, his lips moved faster beneath the base of his broad arrowhead, and his hand wouldn't stop pumping. The movements of his mouth quickly became increasingly eager, and lower down one of his hands was caressing his testicles as if urging his plump ball-bags to give up their treasure.
Then in an instant his tinted eyelids fluttered and his expression melted into one of infinite rapture as if in response to some kind of unseen impact.
"Mmoh!" His belly undulated in a dolphin-like ripple and a meaningless little noise squeezed out from his throat as he balked slightly, but even though he was clearly ejaculating his lips remained latched in place. Mouth and hands then worked in unison, rapidly pumping the shaft, teasing juice along his glands as he wanked into his own mouth and consumed his own copious discharge with the enthusiasm of a baby at its bottle.
Jennifer needed to monitor her breathing when seeing such a job so well done. She must have been watching closely, because just when his dick rippling in his mouth she held his head and kept it firmly in place.
"There, you see, you like it don't you? My girly-brained brother is enjoying himself."
Abigail closed his eyes as his cock lurched and vast globs of cream ejected into his mouth. Then more. And more. Warm, slimy cum-jets of male seed squirting in uncontrollable spasms. He'd tasted plenty of cum before from other cocks, but this was his cum pumping out from his own twitching cock.
Ugh! Eeeaaah, glup!
His sister was unable to resist stroking under his balls again, and she beamed with approval when she noticed his throat undulating. "You're swallowing. You do remember the rules after all. That's lovely, but it's enough of that for now." she told him, "Any more of it and you won't want to eat your dinner."
Later, when Abigail entered his mother's study he found her standing by the fireplace with a cup of tea in her hand, her manner was of that of a lady of the manor receiving a guest.
The guest on this occasion was a stranger. He was a lean, too thin, bald-headed elderly man wearing a good quality, well tailored suit. There were deep creases in his narrow face of the kind that constant deep thought creates, and webs of fine lines around his eyes that stood out like cross-stitching. But it was his mouth that drew most attention, it carried the cynical smile of a debt collector.
"Now," said Miriam, waving her son to the centre of the room. "If you'll allow me, I'll introduce you to my best recommendation. Abigail is without doubt a young man who excels in grace and beauty. A first-class product of Fairyfield Grange and a credit to all who've had a hand in training him."
A new day had brought on a new mood, and the difficulties Miriam had previously faced no longer seemed so daunting. Sick of being downcast, it was on with the job. The cost of opposing the National Trust's claim to Fairyfield Grange had put her in some financial difficulty but Mrs Boroclough had shown the way, and she had got nothing to lose. If mere money was all that was required to put things right she'd raise enough to buy the whole wretched Courts-of-Law, and finding early placements for some of her students was a good way of raising cash. After all, they were created to be expendable and they were there to be exploited.
At a signal from his mother Abigail divested himself of his robe and stepped forward to reveal the full extent of his sister's artistry.