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... her behind the tree myself—the torchlight swung back toward us, bright and accusing.
Mira and Lisa emerged from the shadows, pants back in place but faces still flushed, breaths quick.
Mira’s eyes flicked immediately to my crotch—widening at the blatant wet spot, the thick ridge straining like it was about to tear the zipper—then darted away, cheeks burning hotter than before. She thrust the torch toward Angela with trembling fingers.
"Here... you go," she murmured, voic ...
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