Say, who’s Django Rheinhardt?’ The name almost slipped past her. ‘Belgian gypsy. Fantastic jazz violin player in the 30s and 40s. Django died fa... too young. I love his music. He puts me in the mood,’ said Marshall, reverently. ‘The mood for what?’ asked Sandra. ‘For whatever mood I want to be in. It’s amazing music. When I feel happy, the music sounds happy. When I feel sad, his music sounds sad, but soothing. I’ll play some later.’ ‘To get me in the mood, you naughty boy?’ she said. ‘I thought. She didn’t object, just smiled as I looked. I was hard and took my pants off and honestly just intended to fool around a bit. But as I leaned over her and felt her tits up my cock pressed up against the lips of her pussy and I couldn’t help myself. I looked down and watched myself thrust in. The first one was deep and took her a bit by surprise, I don’t think she’d expected me in her so quick. And for a second we both kind of stared at each other, with me deep inside her, then she tells me to. More

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