If she could feel her hands she could maybe tell how they were tied, but she couldn't. She just knew that they wouldn't move and that she couldn't fee... them. Her guess was that they were tied to a belt of some sort because that's what it felt like around her middle when she tried to move her arms.She knew she was very thirsty; her mouth was a dry as the desert. Of course having what felt like a tennis ball crammed into it didn't feel real wonderful either. Whatever it was it filled much of her. He had strong hands, calloused from work. She really could tell a lot from a man’s hands: Marshal was a carpenter by craft, a good hand at repairing roofs, rails, and fences. She could tell that he was practical and shy, and although he tried to act brave his racing pulse gave him away. But instead of that she said, “You’ve a long love line.”“Do I?”“No. But that’s that kind of thing young men want to hear. Your future isn’t in your hand, Marshal, it’s in your brains and your mouth. Tell me who. Short is a relative term. It was a half hour drive at seventy miles an hour. On my bicycle it would have been a three hour drive or more since I couldn't use the direct Interstate route.I wondered to myself why I had said my bicycle. That bicycle was in some junkyard at the moment never to see the highway again. I parked the pickup at the food court entrance, which was about the only thing open so early in the morning. None of the vendors in the court were open, just the door into the mall. I. The truth was Tabitha was always in heat. Granted living with him had brought it out completely but it did not start with him.As a teen she had discovered her oral fixation. Picking up quite the reputation but she went through a lot of boys. Seeing her disappear with some guy at a party and then seeing them come back 20 minutes later was common. The guy with a dopey smile on his face. Her looking pleased. She lost track at the number of cocks she sucked when she hit 100.She did not have sex.
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