Then she went back to bed.She didn't stay in bed long. She came running back out into the bathroom and slammed her ass down on my face again. And agai..., she instantly flooded my mouth with more syrupy, lumpy shit that I had to struggle to gulp down."Mistress Francesca?" I said. "Maybe you could use the normal toilet if you have diarrhea?" What the fuck?" she moaned and reached for the leather strap. Then changed her mind and said, "Oh, fuck it!"I though that had settled it. I was wrong. She. ‘You’ve gotten good and laid this afternoon, didn’t you?’ ‘You knew?’ she replied, taken aback. ‘I told you, I could smell it on you. But you must have douched in the shower. Who was it? Was it someone new?’ ‘You go first. You tell me you’re going to a clinic, but you fuck some bimbo instead.’ ‘She wasn’t a bimbo, and I did go there. I met her there.’ Argie’s jaw dropped. ‘I . . . I didn’t think any women attended those kinds of things.’ ‘Argie, come on . . . it takes two to tango, doesn’t it?. Her little body bucked and jerked under the impact and she made a gasping moan. Slam again, and this time I remembered to grunt. She was so tight and hot and the sensation was so intense… I could already feel an orgasm building in me, and I was fighting to hold it down. I could feel her rolling for me, rising on tiptoe to meet my thrust, heels down and back braced to hold the impact. Don’t come, don’t come… the rhythm was building, we were moving faster together… I knew I could not hold back. Richard complained of back pain in the evening, having sat on his bay horse for over four hours, and Ellen had a sore neck from looking up to the ‘Squire’ just as long. The worst part, however, had been to keep Ricky in position for more than a few seconds. They had a finishing session on the next day, and that was the last nice day in a while. For two weeks, the rain poured down, transforming the roads and paths into mudholes. Temperatures dropped too, and soon the leaves of the trees turned.
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