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He’s going to go off like a firehose!”Rachel looks from Thomas to Randall, to camera, all the while with a wistful little smile on her face.Then she’s standing in the middle of the room, peeling her sweater off to reveal a seriously stretched white t-shirt. Beneath that we can already see the very full black bra. The sweater comes off next to reveal that bra and its contents in glorious detail. It’s a nice bra, and a nicer pair of boobs – swollen by late pregnancy hormones and ready to feed the soon-to-arrive infant.Down go her black leggings, to reveal pink French panties. She peels them and we see a thick, dark, tuft of pubic hair, almost like a Hitler moustache. Well trimmed, a good waxing yesterday, she tells us – especially for the show. “I don’t mind being a pervert, but I’ll not be a messy pervert!” She says. Then she flips a shoulder strap off, twisted her bra around and unfastens it, throwing it onto the couch.She stands there for a second. Not sure what to do, whether to. I have since learned that an unwashed cock has a slightly tangy taste to it that I have learned to love. I am sure Jack’s would have had had a great flavor but I was committed that this session be devoted to manual stimulation only. We would have a second hour where I could suck his cock to another orgasm or two. In fact I would make it a point after he reached orgasm as a result of the edging session to make sure that plenty of semen coated his cock so I could suck it clean. In the meantime I had a full sixty minutes to devote to stroking and massaging his penis. I always looked forward to manipulating Jack’s cock. One reason was its hardness. I had handled a great many erect cocks in my day but I am certain that Jack achieved a level of hardness that no other prick I had ever stroked came even close to. It was so stiff that if I pulled down on it, it barely moved. It was my job to provide a level of stimulation over the next hour that would keep it in that state 100% of the time..
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Certainly not deliberately rude. ‘Yes, Lady, I do…’ D’Dea took a step forward, handed a sizeable gunnysack to the draenei. It was no harder for the draenei to take the cubit-and-half bag of ingots and ores than it was for her to hand them to her. It was a bit of an adjustment, actually, handing the mass to someone her own height and strength. The draenei opened the bag, gazed in, shook the contents around, making sure they were all there. D’Dea sensed a mental checklist being scratched off. At Aestu’s waist was a toolbox. She opened it, pulled out a dull metal box, gave it a good whack with her wrist as she let it fell to the ground. The box resounded with disproportionate volume and unfolded into a miniature anvil and forge. Impressive trick. The draenei did her work with a gnomish army engineer’s combination tool – pounding, annealing, trimming, shaping, touching up. ‘I was doing archaeological research. It is a hobby I have taken up in my…active retirement.’ Answering the question.

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