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Anonymous
After the incident involving the homeroom teacher's desk, Amu made a minor breakthrough with regards to her masturbatory activities. Not only had she been gifted with a joy buzzer for a clit, but, perhaps owed in some part to the whole egglaying business and her earlier exploration thereof, she discovered that the sensation of something, anything, probing her anal passage was enough to bring her bubbling up to that level of simmering soft climax. With just a finger buried between the pert young cheeks of her firm, muscular behind, she could keep herself hovering around a state of flushed, sweaty arousal while her pussy frothed and drooled into her knickers for hours on end. She started with fingers, soon found that generous applications of lubricating fluids made both insertions and prolonged penetration more than comfortable, and slowly moved through a truly inspired array of items. One day a lipstick tube she had bought for herself, the next a fresh baby carrot. The bead necklace was one of her favourites. They went in so easily, stayed in for as long as she wanted, and would send her into writhing ecstasy or a screaming orgasmic fit when removed depending on her method of retrieval.
Thus, Amu began her descent into a rampant narcissistic nymphomania of sorts, her every spare waking moment lost in a constant cycle of self-pleasure and sexual exploration, her dreams packed with the most startlingly vivid homoerotic images of her classmates. It became, in time, almost a subconscious thing. She seemed no longer fully aware of the process in itself beyond her simple driving urge to force her body towards endless orgasm with every opportunity. The longer her abstinance, the greater the desire became, until the frustrated youngster could barely sleep at night for the hours she would spend lying in bed, ruining her sheets.
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