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Stephanie was nowhere in sight.Disappointed with her sudden disappearance, Casey walked back to the clearing and slowly dressed. Amazed at the day’s turn of events, he gave one last look around the clearing before making the trek back to his car. All the way back down the beach, the events rambled through his head. Was it a dream? Was she even real? It has to be real, he kept pondering in his mind. Finally arriving back at the parking lot, he noticed a few other cars parked there. Assuming the cars belonged to the hikers he saw earlier, he unlocked his door and got in.Turning out of the parking lot, he headed towards the bridge and eventually back to his condo. As he started to cross the bridge he glanced to his right at the stretch of beach he hadn’t seen. He took a double-take at a figure slowly sauntering along the sand. Slowing his car to a stop, he got out and rushed to the railing. Squinting at the figure, he noticed that she was very tight-figured. Her gorgeous rear swayed. The girl underneath let go of my nipple and I felt her vaginatighten as she came, she squealed in delight. I pulled out from her andshe wriggled out from beneath me.I turned over on to my back and continued to masturbate the priests.The priest who likes big breasts sat on my taut stomach and stuck hiscock between my tits, I wiggled underneath him as he grabbed my titsand mashed them against his dick, they easily covered his cock. Ilicked the come off my lips, as I used both hands to masturbate thefinal priest. I felt a warm gooey mess cover my tits, the priest sat onmy stomach massaging his come into my tits, enjoying the soft fullnessof my breasts. The final priest cried in ecstasy as he came I directedthe jet to my mouth, it missed and covered my face with warm come. Thesensation of the priest massaging my tits caused me to come hard.We all separated, panting with exhaustion; sweat covered our bodies,the temple smelt like incense and sweaty bodies. I began to lick thecome off my.
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It was a heavy duty, industrial strength garment, providing the kind of the support needed by Carrie Nation as she wielded her massive ax against a solid mahogany bar in a den of iniquity. Were it to be made of brass instead of the fruit of the rubber tree it would have not been out of place adorning a robust Viking matron upon the stage of the Metropolitan Opera; circled in uncountable concentric rings of stitching running inexorably to the pointed center of the cup. I always had to fight the urge to paint a red circle in the center of that target, but common sense won out every time.There were other wonders in that drawer. Garter belts, girdles and even corsets. They were much too large for me at that time, but I wore them anyway. I would spend hours on end enjoying the illicit thrill of those wonderful items of apparel. It was some time later that I found the old trunk in the attic with the outgrown clothes of my mother's past and was able to both wear something closer to my size.

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