Grade in the morning.My sleep-time ritual is mechanical. Floss, brush, rinse. Wet the comb and run it through my hair, a habit even Mama mocked.“Mar...ín, will you meet a princess in your dreams?”This Sunday, on the phone, Mama had been strange. After her usual chastisement for not being married and being so far from home, she’d said, “Things are not well with your soul, Martín.”If I somehow forgot what shame was and told Mama about the dreams, she’d say they were from the devil.Another wave of. Despite your hands being restricted, you’re still able to make me feel magical. However, it isn’t long before I move my body back again—I can’t take the waiting anymore.I lean forward to let your mouth play with my nipples for a few seconds as I stroke your cock. The lube has rubbed off, but I know I’m wet enough for that not to matter. I rub your precum around, even bringing some up to my mouth to taste,I see in your eyes how much you want me—but I don’t give it to you yet. I keep stroking you. More

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