Kurt did triathlons. He didn’t dosmokers.Now he lay naked in darkness, silken rope wrappedround his wrists and ankles, a blindfold tight on his face...He lay on the floor of the ancient Parisian apartment andcould smell the layers, the generations, of smoke that hadsoaked into the wooden floor and thick plaster, the carpetsand battered furniture. Over that ancient scent was a freshcloud of harsh fume, drifting on the swell of Frenchchatter that came from the next room where Marie wastalking with. Ich haette ihn ausziehen sollen.Aber, oja. Sie schoben sich nun deutlicher nach vorn und trotz des recht lockersitzenden Hemdes sah ich seine Brueste wachsen.Jetzt mussten es bestimmt 10 Zentimeter sein, die er kleiner war.Die richtige Groesse hatte er beinahe erreicht.Wieder aergerte ich mich, ihn nicht voellig ausgezogen zuhaben.Zu gern haette ich es gesehen, was sich bei ihm zwischen den Beinen abspielte.Aber zum Schluss ist doch eigentlich das richtige Ergebnis wichtig.War 'Er' denn schon. More

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