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Her arm was stained red up to an elbow, blood dripped from a deep slash in her upper forearm. ‘Boovu saa!’ spat the wounded warlord in Manchurian, a dialect of which Fatima understood a bit, ‘we lost the war.’ ‘No, my khan, we shall only lose a horde of imbeciles who have been shaming the legacy of the Great Khan for some twenty years or more,’ the Kara-Khitan girl replied. Her voice was hard and alien, like the drone of a wasp in the air. The rich man swore again. ‘What the fuck do you know. She's facing me and she has her hands on my chest. She hardly seems to weigh anything at all." Dieter said a mild "Damn. They're probably all skinny" from the darkness. Steve felt her hands run down his arms and take his hands. "That was Dieter," Steve said, "he prefers to have his hands, uh, full." Monday was raising Steve's hands, and put them on her shoulders. She was wearing the softest, thinnest angora sweater he had ever felt. She let go of his right hand and put her hand back on his. While I enjoyed the new smooth sensations and her intoxicating nectar, she was clearly more aroused than usual, even though her usual was still highly excited. She gasped, whimpered then moaned and eventually panted to a very intense climax. My tongue went deep to enjoy her spasms as her love fluids gashed out. I used that lubricant to circle her rosebud as I continued to lap up her juices up to her engorged clit. When I slipped a finger into her rosebud, my tongue stirring deep inside her. He had been 15 or 16 when I left for college and had been just a short, skinny and funny looking annoyance. He was still kind of goofy looking with his signature shaggy bowl cut hair, jug handle ears and ubiquitous grin but below the neck his body had become the stuff of pornstar hotness. I was stupified as I took in the thick broadness of his shoulders, plump biceps and meaty chest. I couldn’t help myself as my gaze followed the beads of sweat cascading downward from his mountainous shoulders.
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