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Her hand felt really warm on my still very small and shriveled up cold cock (the benches we sat on at the game were metal and very cold which had shru...k my cock down to the size of a peanut and normally I have a nice long thick one, well, on good days I have at least 8inches and pretty thick). “Where is it” she said jokingly as one of her fingers and thumb wrapped a tiny “OK” sign around my maybe 1 inch shaft if that. I had to come back with something fast with some kind of humor because I was. She usually came here to dance the night or day away, but this time was different. No alcohol, light eating and a good rest beforehand, as she had been instructed.Jim Rinaldo was a barkeeper, and good at it. He was something of an artist, knowing what people wanted even if they couldn't really bring it out into words, and usually taking just a glance to know what kinds of drinks people would order. Sometimes he made a show out of it, entertaining the regulars with this sixth sense he had,. I'd let my finger rub across her back door as I continued up over her cheeks. I stopped rubbing the outside of her pussy and slipped a finger down into her. She was wet and the more I played with her pussy the wetter she got. I ran my finger into her and then up to the front and slowly rub her clit with the wet tip of my finger. She would push back towards me and give a little moan. I'd lick her juice off my finger and run it back down. I used my other hand to reach under her shirt to pinch her. What’s your name?”“Damian. Where you flying to?”“Oh, I live in Atlanta. I was just up here for a wedding.”“Who got married?”“Oh, a client of mine. I did the make-up for all the ladies.”“That’s what you do?”“Yeah! I’m a make-up artist. I work on a lot of film sets mainly.”“That’s wassup.”“What brought you up here,” inquired Nigel.“A funeral. My uncle passed,” answered Damian.“Sorry to hear.”“It’s cool.”“I can see you’re married. Where the missus?”“She at home. Eight months pregnant. Can’t fly..
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