“We’re fried if they find out,” she backed off.“The curly-cues just came out that way, we say,”“Maybe down in this corner,” bending over...to let him see down her sweater, but he didn’t.When she resurrected her castaway story, maybe Paul would be wearing something like those boxers when she pulled him to shore. That sort of fabric and all. As the author, she’d know the size of his cock (better word to be found), but as the character, she’d discover this slowly in nursing him back to health, maybe. It was so wicked. So amazingly nasty. I loved it. My pussy leaked juices down my thighs. I shuddered, one hand stroking Mr. Thompson's thinning hair, the other unzipping his slacks. I reached in, pushing my hand through the slit in his boxers and pulling out his hard cock.He moaned about my nipple then released it. “Alexandra,” he panted, eyes burning with lust. “This is...”“Amazing,” I purred as I pressed his face between my tits and stroked his dick. “Mmm, it is. I can't wait to fuck. More

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