When we got back to her flat, Martie wasted no time, popping a bottle of Chardonnay and pouring two very large, very full glasses. We drank them until...they were almost empty, laughing and gabbing about things in general when Martie said, ‘I’ll be right back and I want to hear all the sordid details of your adventures!’ And left me sitting on her lounging leather couch. While Martie was gone, I started to think about the last time I was here and how I learned that my pussy was a work of art and. She gasps as I firmly grip her backside.“Who does this belong to?” I ask.“You,” she promptly replies.“Bonne fille. And this?” I pull her closer with one hand to where her body is inches from my face. I put my hand up in between her legs and with the outside of my index finger, gently rub her smooth mound. “Who does this belong to?”“It belongs to you.”“What? Say it, again!” I give one quick smack to her buttocks.“You sir, it belongs to you. You own all of me.”“Good.” I lift my index finger to. More

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