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I stroked his long, hot, fat shaft as he kissed medeeply and pressed my breasts. I was pretty sure, givenhis age, that I could make him cum with my hand. I usedto love doing that in high school, and the thoughtdrove me wild now. A hand-job at my age – what ascream!But he was controlling the game. He pulled his mouthaway from mine and said that he needed to feel my lips.I gave in completely and took him into my mouth withoutargument. I love the look of a glistening cock, thefeel of the head pushing to the back of my throat, Ilove seeing a happy man look down into my eyes. I wastoo into this – I couldn’t wait for him to cum in mymouth.He told me to touch myself, that he wanted to see mecum when he came. That took no convincing at all. I wasso excited that I couldn’t wait. I continued to strokehim as I wiggled out of my panties. Once free I beganrubbing myself in unison with my stroking. This was soerotic and so dangerous – I loved the feel of thislarge man. Different from the girl upon the stone slab her features were sharp and strong with just the smallest touch of serenity that sirened many men in her youth. I being the spitting image of my mother, but for the male version, my sister is the spitting image of my late father who died in the Farie Dragon Wars two winters past. Holly was now talking to the dragon trying to assure her to awake from her sleep of fear. Thanks to mom, the girl no longer looks deathly and the venom has been corralled only to the cuts upon her back. But still she sleeps and dreams. My mother thinks its to do with the security blanket all minds have to save itself from trauma, but hers is only making it worse en blocking her from the outside world and sending her into a never ending cycle of her experience with the man I rescued her from. James! my mother waved her hand in front of my face trying to get my attention. Quickly I snapped out of my thought process and smiled ruefully up at her. Sorry mom, what did.
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The warmth of those silky hair was radiating to my somewhat cold hand. I knew she was not asleep and there was no attempt by her to remove her head away from my hand. My hand was still somewhat cold, though it had held her warm breast two hours and forty seven minutes ago. Should I dare and move it on her neck and down? What if that episode in the toilet was a rare daring by her and what if she shouted or did something of the sort if I attempted anything now? But I wanted to know her too. I was feeling somewhat self-conscious talking to her but I started.“You live in Surat?” I asked“Yes” she said shortly looking at me“What does your husband do?”“Embroidery business” she said with a certain lack of joy, I felt.“Arranged marriage na?”“Hmmm”“Vanshiqa is a nice name” I said“Just the name?” she smiled, her eyes wide.“No, no” I stammered “everything about you.”She told me she wasn’t a Gujarati but was from ….. in Bihar, at present returning from relatives in Kolkata. We were talking in.

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