If you haven't read part 4, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.Mr. Hale only once asks me about playing Frisbee, and it is after he “fucked the fight” out of me. This means that he had thrown me onto the bed without warning and used every tactic possible to make me beg for his attentions. After sessions like these I invariably fall into a dark mood, hating myself for letting him get the better of me one more time. Mr. Hale is still imbedded in me, his hands still gripping my shoulders as I lie stretched out beneath him, both of us gasping for breath. My lower half is practically numb, but my nipples feel as though they will fall off any moment.
“Well,” he says smugly, “I can tell that your endurance level has risen. Remind me to thank the little friends on your team.”
I laugh weakly, mirthlessly, into a pillow, afterglow and exhaustion making me giddy. “I’ll let them know, Sir.” The odor of our mingled juices stains the room.
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