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Her hands, sliding off my shoulders, found my breasts. She cupped them, stroking my nipples. We kissed again. “Let me kiss these now,” she said, sitting down at the foot of my bed and drawing me by the hand to stand before her. Her tongue, like a clever little animal, crawled and slipped down the bulge of my left breast and circled my areola. I stood like a statue, literally unable to move, as she licked under the swell of the breast, moved across my sternum, before doing the same to the other breast. I could barely make myself breathe as her tongue licked over my right areola before her mouth settled, at last, on my nipple. I wish I could describe to you exactly how it felt when she sucked on my nipple. It wasn’t the first time ever that I had had my breasts kissed, and I’ve had many lovers, both men and women, who have kissed them since then, and some of them were undoubtedly more expert and sophisticated by far than Mila. But not one of them made me feel the thrill that she felt at that moment as she licked, sucked, and finally gently nibbled on my big nipple. Then her head moved across my chest and she did it again. I think I almost fainted in the sensations washing over me. I found myself with my head thrown back as far as it would go, my hands clenched in her hair, anal while she supported me with one arm across the small of my back. My mouth was open and I was crying out, little moans lost among the crash of thunder and the howling of wind-driven rain. “They taste wonderful,” she said at last, lingerie when I had managed to collect myself a little. “I’ll bet the rest huge of you does, too.” Her mouth moved down my belly in little butterfly kisses, before circling and settling on my navel. I felt her tongue poke into it, which made me wriggle. “Now,” she said, her fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties, which were soaked with a mix of sweat and my juices. “We have an obstacle here. What shall we do with it?” “Take it off,” I said. The thunder had suddenly stopped for a moment, and my voice sounded very loud, startling myself. “Take it off, please.” “Are you sure?” She pulled the waistband a little further, then let it go, and then pulled it again. “Are you certain? I’ll see her, you know.” “Her?” “Her. Your vagina. You’re sure you want to let me see her, after keeping her hidden for so long?” She bent forward and drew a deep breath. “She smells wonderful. No wonder you keep her hidden. So.” She looked up at me, her eyes full vintage of mischief. “Shall I, or shall I not, take this off?” I felt my hips moving, as though that could possibly shake the damp panties off my body. “Take it off!” I repeated. “Please take it off.” She did so with excruciating slowness. Your tongue . . . She was vintage cut off in mid-sentence when he shoved the barrel of the gun in her belly and pushed her backwards until huge she fell big back over the smelly bedding. “What type of stuff?” “I don’t think so. “Thank you Max. He licked her necklace all the way around and kissed and sucked his way down the entire length of her body: her tits, her navel, her legs, her feet, and did the same when he slowly worked his way back up. Finally when she couldn’t find them anal she asked, “Michael, where are my panties?” They got out, dried, spritzed a little cologne on and chose their clothing, Ursula opted for her bright red panties and nightie, Kim selected a cute little apricot number. Lindsey’s face got a new shade of red. The soft dimples of her back made me groan to her, and I watched as she rocked her hips lingerie on her sister's face. That masculine smell makes my pussy wet and I almost forget what I'm mad about....almost. Deen thought he would shoot out his spunk without even a touch.