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Summary
A boy. A saddle. A father.
If he were any older, he would certainly know what to name the feeling—the startling emergence of wet warmth seeping into heather grey panties—but even without endless knowledge about the world, he has come to recognize the rising discomfort all the same.
Growing restless. Growing, shockingly enough, damp between both thighs. Growing breathless because the repetitive, unrelenting strikes of aged leather are suddenly demanding his attention.