1. She is the One (Part 17)


    Date: 10/3/2014, Categories: Fiction, Consensual Sex, Romance, School, Teen Male/Teen Female, Author: jashley13, Rating: 91.2, Source: sexstories.com

    to grab a helping of peady pwas and there still were huge amounts left over. Mom wouldn’t have to cook for the next few days. “Do we need to save the stuff?” I asked once everyone had pushed their plates away. “We’ll do that later,” mom said, suppressing a loud belch, “In case anyone wants something else to munch on.” Everyone made general sounds indicating that they were fine. Even thinking about food made my stomach lurch. “What now?” I asked. “Well,” dad said, glancing at the dimming light outside, “I was thinking we could set up the fire pit and enjoy some fresh air.” Mr. Hannigan chuckled. “You got brandy and cigars as well?” he joked. My dad shook his head quickly. “No cigars,” he said, sounding distressed. The quickness of his response and his tone all but announced there was a good story here. “What’s wrong with cigars, dad?” I asked. He sighed and looked at mom. “Want to tell them?” he asked. Mom sighed and said, “I used to love smoking cigars until your father decided—” “I didn’t decide,” dad interrupted, “I am .” “—he was allergic to cigar smoke and I had to stop. It wasn’t easy.” “Well, then how about just a brandy?” Mr. Hannigan said, unfazed. “How about we all just sit outside and chat?” his wife said firmly, pushing back her chair. All the other grownups stood. Dad glanced at me. “You going to help me?” he asked. I sighed and laboriously pushed back my seat. My stomach felt like it had been loaded with bricks and I didn’t envy our toilets the Tyrannosaurus ...
    shits that they would have to endure in the next few hours. “What do you need help with?” I asked, pulling back Kayla’s chair, “Still can’t work the lighter?” He colored and said, “I’ve been getting better at it.” Which is true; it used to take him half an hour and now he only needed to wrestle with it for about ten minutes to get it working. We uncovered the squat fire pit and loaded it with the wood we had made by sawing off dead branches from the trees in our backyard. They weren’t much thicker than my thumb, most of them, but there were enough of them to hold a fire for a good few hours. Once we had the pit packed to the gills with wood, dad twisted a piece of newspaper and shoved it deep into the middle of the wood pile. “Hand me the lighter,” he said, holding out his hand. “You sure you don’t just want me to do it?” I asked, twirling it on my finger. He gave me a withering look and snatched it from me. “Smartass,” he muttered. He tugged the trigger a few times, getting more and more frustrated as the flame sparked for a moment before going out. “You have to push the button while—” “I know !” He tried and tried but, as usual, he failed to get it going. Normally, he would keep trying, letting a long string of muttered curses accompany his attempts, but the presence of company must have made him embarrassed so he handed the lighter to me and grumbled something about me doing it. “Gladly,” I said chipperly and had the newspaper lit in seconds. Within minutes, the fire was ...
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