Inhaling, he could smell the musky scent of her, his tongue lapping over the sweetened dew, her lips sliding over him erotically. Rocking and undulati...g beneath him, she let him take his fill of her. Fire raced in her body his tongue probed her, pushing deep inside of her. Her legs trembled, quivered with every breath she took, her voice a sultry purr as he licked her, a long finger. He could feel the tightening of her clit, could feel it in the way she moved, her back arching and swaying, then. As if reading her mind, he said. “I’ve done this thousands of times in my dreams,” the drawl reverberated on her skin to worsen the swell and dampness between her thighs.And then he pulled her neckline open just to stop short when he gaped the fabric to uncover her breasts. A very manly grunt vibrated in his throat as his bespectacled eyes focused on her globes. Reverently, he lifted his large hands and cupped them, fingers appreciating the texture, the size, the weight. His tall frame pressed. With each success, he became more emboldened. Slowly his hand journeyed down her leg, gently running his fingers along her skirt, looking for the hem of her skirt. Glancing down he noticed that her skirt cut at her knees and that it would be too obvious if I bent down to lift it up. So, he again goosed her, placing his hand right the crack of her ass. Mr Kobaiyoshi gently as possible grabbed her skirt and began to pull it up. He looked around every few seconds but had not been sighted by. Once upon a time, back in the day, I’d been a ‘rocker’. Not really. I owned a succession of elderly motorbikes until I married Helen and we bought the house. She didn’t care for them, and they went, but I still had the licence to ride. There was no way I was going to buy one of the flashy foreign bikes, with terrifying performance. They needed far too much care and attention and I’d probably kill myself anyway. I didn’t want a small bike, either. I briefly considered a pedal cycle, which would.
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