Her thighs were spread open to the thoughts Debbie was feeding to her from two hundred miles away. Fingers were moist from the juices he conjured from...her depths by mere suggestion. Debbie fed her her lust in small slivers. Permission had been given to her to touch, but not to penetrate. Whimpers and soft pleas to plunge her fingers deep into herself and to worry her clit to completion fell upon deaf ears. In a sense, she was fully restrained, but it was by Debbie's sexy voice and the power of. When I say Paris, of course, I mean the city in France, not the vapid slut who lives here in the States. No, I don't have that painting's sad smile. In reality, I'm a much more perky type, upbeat and always with a happy smile. I'm also much prettier than the woman in that painting, and trust me, that's not just ego.No, the reason they call me that has to do with, you guessed it, the sounds that I make when I'm having sex. All of the sounds remind one of the noises made by cows in the field, yet. More

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