"Angie, sweetie, time to wake up." "Mmmmm, I don't wanna get up; I wanna stay just like this, forever", she said. "Unh, unh; come on, we've got to get...up for our last day streaking through the halls of Richwood High", I said. "OK, OK!" she said. "Party pooper". We got up, showered together, and got semi-dressed in our usual attire. I checked my cell phone for any messages, and there were none.We stopped at the drive-thru again, and got our greasy sausage-burgers and coffee again. God, I needed. Fisting. To say that I was addicted to fisting would be to use the wrong word. It wasn't a physical need exactly. I didn't need to be fisted, but I definitely wanted it. Not every night, but often. The intense stretching that wasn't quite pleasure nor pain, the overwhelming feeling of fullness, the complete surrender of having Cindy's hand and part of her forearm pounding relentlessly inside of me. It all felt so amazingly good.But the most wondrous part of it all was the intimacy. The literal. More

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