Tarakan, this is my moment of history.” She wasn’t moving, but her cunt was dancing a farandole along my cock. “How?” I groaned. She looked ...t me—damn those eyes! “I practice every day with a very good, long, friend. Now, Mr. Tarakan…” Each syllable emphasized with a suffocating squeeze of her cunt muscles. She mewled softly, gripping my shoulders and glissading up and down my cock, rasping her pubic bone hard against mine. The suckling grip of her vagina was sending me wild. I thought of. The tubitself took up practically the entire room. While sitting on the toiletshe could reach well into the damn thing. A little bubble bathsolution, a candle or three, and her portable radio sitting on thetoilet tank playing indie rock. Perfect. She stripped out of her tightfitting low-rise jeans, red marks where the denim had pinched her skinstood out around her waist. She slumped and pushed her belly out,feeling the skin stretch."My little Asian noodle child," She said, rubbing her stomach. More

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