I would quickly check her stuff out before she arrived. Her underwear consisted entirely of tiny, no-seam thongs, and specialty-store, super-heavy dut... bras. 32 HH. I didn’t even knew they made such sizes. I could put my entire head inside a cup. Dozens of blouses, pants, and dresses that were so skimpy, thin, and light that they could fit inside a carry-on. Dozens and dozens of high-heeled shoes in all kinds of styles and patterns. A few sneakers and flip flops, and exercise clothes. She would. Her cries of want were stifled by her own biting of her lip, the ferrous taste of her own blood filling her mouth as she looked back over her shoulder at him. He was an angelic picture of pleasure now, eyes closed, hands on her hips, not the Paul she’d known for a dozen years, a new and different Paul exposed in this early morning encounter. She closed her own eyes as he pounded her needful pussy, feeling her impending orgasm gathering all around his cock, trying to hold off for him, knowing he. More

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