Family persuasions

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The misgivings Charlie Crandall had had about the evening dissolved completely the moment he felt Jan Peter's warm, soft lips close around his jutting, aching, desperately hungry prick. After all, if she didn't care about having someone in the car with them, why should he? Her mouth circled his blood-swollen staff, and her tongue washed over the glands like hot, wet velvet, and his hyperactive, nineteen-year-old balls spurted a boiling hot flood of sperm into the base of his cock.

He had laid out the ground rules to Cookie as soon as they had left the house. No peeking, no squawking, no yakking, and, above all, a death oath not to squeal to their parents about what might or might not happen.

"Why? What's so special about tonight?" Cookie had demanded.

"You're too young," he had retorted, stopping the car in front of her date's house.

"I'm not either, I'm eighteen," she had retorted. "Oh, I get it. You've got a date with Jan Peters, don't you?"

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