"Yours!" cried she, throwing back her veil, --"yours, which I alone, perhaps, have not forgotten. Edmond, it is not Madame de Morcerf who is come to y...u, it is Mercedes." Mercedes is dead, madame," said Monte Cristo; "I know no one now of that name." Mercedes lives, sir, and she remembers, for she alone recognized you when she saw you, and even before she saw you, by your voice, Edmond, --by the simple sound of your voice; and from that moment she has followed your steps, watched you, feared. Her breasts were pushed up against the leather couch… so I didn’t get a good visual of them at first. I thought to myself: “This is even better than the first time.” The room was more illuminated… I could see everything. I boldly decided to stand there in the hallway. I don’t know why. Was it because I act more boldly when I drink? Possibly. I began to rub my little hard-on through my jeans. Maybe a minute or two later, Ryan pulled on my mom’s hair. Her breasts lifted off the coach and Ryan. More

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