And yet, it was not the same scene exactly. This wasn’t another print. It was an entirely new painting. The woman was the same, as well as I could r...member. She was lying on her side more in this one, and she wasn’t as old as my fevered young brain had thought. Time plays that trick in viewing another’s age. The girls that seen mature when I’m twelve seen dreadfully young when I’m thirty-two. But it was her, no doubt about it. She was on the straw, a larger pile this time. The scene looked. I could feel her want. I heard her murmuring need as I near caveman style dragged her to the vinyl bench.I was waylaid from my arse buggering intent by the equal appeal of her pussy tightness. I pressed her face down into the vinyl and enjoyed looking at her peachy arse cheeks and her pink moist labia and her trimmed light pubes; and I jammed my cock into her girly slit repeatedly and deeply. She was sensational. Her pussy was a true cock shaping wonder hole. I was manic in my thrusting. I mean. More

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