For old time’s sake, I stood up on the pedals and started to pump. Q’s jaw dropped open as I ever so slowly, began to pump, so I glanced over in...o the mirror to see what Miss Moneypenny’s pussy looked like. As her body lifted, the dildo would pull out her vulva like a stretched pink rubber grommet. As her body fell, the dildo would jamb her lips back up into her pussy. One pump at a time, the image appeared fluid in motion, but as the pumps sped up, what I saw seemed kind of mechanical, like. I knew than whatever her experience before today, that today must be something more than just satisfying myself. I traced around her clit until I felt the moisture became great from the attention of my lips and finger, so I kissed my way to her vagina. I had never liked licking my wife as her aroma had always over powered me, and I couldn't abide her taste, so I had never performed cunnilingus on her from our wedding day on. But as I approached my Sara's cunt the smell made my mouth water to. Ian,' Prudence began. 'Yes?' 'Do you masturbate?' I gasped, my burning face was, I was sure, luminous and I stuttered, 'what?I mean…' 'Ian,' Prudence said evenly, 'I know all boys do it.They can't keep their hands off it and that's all right, I suppose.' Prudencestared at me and said firmly, 'but not when they have a girlfriend.' 'Girlfriend?' I stuttered. 'Yes,' she said patiently, 'it's like cheating. Do you see that?' 'Well…yes…I suppose…' 'It should be the girlfriend who gives the nice. I though that there was no way she would do it. Wrong! I didn’t have a clue about how to go about finding a black guy, but she did. One next afternoon we drove over to the black side of town to Missy Something’s (I’ve forgotten her name) house, an old black woman she said she knew. Another black woman was also in the house. I couldn’t figure out the relationship between them but they seemed to know each other well. Linda went off to talk to Missy alone and then Missy went to the front door and.
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Lovemaking with her became a regular and delightful part of my life, but increasingly she would tell me stories of the ‘special parties’ she and h
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