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"Zere are too many leetle folds - no wooman 'as zat much peenk!" he pontificates. Thrilled with the intellectual debate blonde I have become engaged in, I attempt to prove to him that he is wrong. "Look!" I say, lifting the hem of my skirt and pulling apart the sides of my crotchless panties, "don't I look just like that?" His answer startles me: "oh, non! Yours is - shav-ed, oh la la - but lahk zees one," pointing to another nude who is clearly less excited than our subject snatch. Quickly sensing the problem, I enlighten him by beginning to masturbate. He sees my point, and in a fit of intellectual stimulation, rushes to my aid. Soon, his fingers are all over my spreading snapper. I begin to look a lot like the pussy in the painting. "Steel not zere!" he declares, casting his critical eye back and forth between my dripping sex and the masterpiece. He yanks out his French stick, and plunges it deep inside me. He pumps me like a man lost in the desert with nothing to live on but potato chips suddenly finding a well at an oasis. When he spurts inside me (don't forget to wear your diaphragm in Paris) and pulls out hastily, he gazes again at my vagina and at the one in the painting. "Madame," he concedes with a bow, "you are correct." From the Louvre, stroll through the Jardin des Tuileries (zhar-dan day twee-le-ree) and onto the Champs pornstar blowjob Elysees (shons ay-lee-say), remembering to tug your skirt down every few steps - or if necessary, pull your stockings up. Stop for a late lunch at any one of the myriad bistros and cafes along the way. I've found that if you let the surly French waiters know that it's okay to touch your breasts, they usually lose the attitude, and you can often get a free refill on the glass of excellent Chardonnay (shar-don-nay). Next, move on to the Arc de Triomphe (arc duh tree-omp). One of the highlights of the Arc is the view from the top, which is often enhanced by the sight of honeymooning lovers embracing by the wall, with the splendors of Paris arrayed below them. On this particular late afternoon, I am lucky enough to find the crowds have thinned, and there is only one couple making out in the corner. Sensing an opportunity for a true Parisian adventure, I Big Boobs approach them cautiously. A handsome man is French-kissing his lover. To my surprise, I find that the cute little one in the short skirt, with exquisite hair and makeup, is also a Hardcore man! But I decide to take a chance. Menage a trois? (m'nazh a twa)" I ask. The cutie breaks the kiss and stares at me. He/she reaches out and squeezes my left boob. "Oy, noice job, myte!" he exclaims. I've heard my titties called many things in my day, but "job" is not usually one of them. "Thanks!" Are we on the same page? He checked on me about 30 minutes Big Boobs later. We’ve got to do this more often.” “Not really” I groan. “You like it, don’t you, Dan? I opened my toys drawer and said, Dan sitting there, hand on his cock, completely naked. “Fair enough.” Chuckled Harry, and he began to Hardcore attach his letter. “Yes, Night Eyes,” Brandon grinned his pornstar wonderful, stupid grin, “I’m sure.” My tail blowjob swished against his chest as Master moved. A native gripped her left breast and gently blonde squeezed it so the tip and its protruding bud was easily accessed. “Sorry babe put a bra on as we need to get out there to see which girl has the best wet stains. He said that was gay.” your pussy was squeezing me, milking me. just like a woman."