Rhonda was sitting at our table, leaning back superciliously in her chair, those fucking amazing legs crossed and a sort of constant sneer on her face...“Rhonda’s a brilliant musician.”“You all are.”Val kissed my ear. “Of course we are, but she can play almost any brass instrument, can't you?” Why did I feel like she was sort of proud of Rhonda?She, Rhonda, leaned forward and said as quietly as the circumstances allowed and, it seemed to me, directly AT me, “The only thing I don’t blow,” dramatic. “Milk my breasts.”He lifted up on his elbows and began firmly caressing them from back to front. He ended each stroke by pinching her nipples. His arousal was building. Soon he sensed fullness near his prostrate that signaled the onset of his orgasm. What happens next would be out of his control -- not that he wished to control it if he could. Much of his pleasure derived from abandoning himself to the inevitable, and now he had reached the point of no return. Ron pressed against her and. More

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