My face smells like hiscrotch. My tummy is filled with his cum. The palesmooth flesh is exposed above my streetwalker-pinkfishnet thigh-highs. My legs...extend, trembling, andrigid as I approach orgasm, my feet arched inside thered platform sandals, my back arched, everything seemsarched, if eyeballs could arch mine are arched…andthen it happens.“Are you going to wet your pretty nightie,” H asks,scarcely a moment before I start helplessly shaking andspurting.His hand has picked. Her hair, as noted, was entrancing. Her smile was a delight, and her eyes glittered with happiness. And need.She wasn't the only one. As his hands reached for hers, he knew the two of them would never make it inside.She pulled him close, her back against the cool stone wall, her arms around his waist, her hands flat against the small of his back. Her head was tipped back, her eyes deep and desperate.He looked down at her, feeling her lips on his, her breasts pressing against his shirt, her. More

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