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Stroke his cock ith bana peel

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Porn Base Stroke his cock ith bana peel.

The road moves under us like a ribbon, like we are winding along some impossible Escher reality, twisting and turning on it and somehow we can travel all the sides of it and still find our way back to the side we started on.

I feel Stroke his cock ith bana peel though we've entered our own space, and we shuttle forth in it, embraced in the upholstered steel womb of the car. Richard's left hand grips the wheel absent-mindedly. As he holds it, the leather cover leaves his hand smelling raw and earthy. Warm, but a real warmth, unlike the manufactured heat blowing across our legs. His right hand rests on my thigh, his index finger casually stroking it while the rest of his hand stays motionless.

I look down, and think that his finger looks like a centipede there, inching up and down in that one spot. We hurtle along the road. The dashboard says we are travelling at nearly 70 mph, but the number seems meaningless to me. The only motion of any interest is that of his finger on my thigh, and the hand to which it belongs.

I close my eyes and allow myself to feel its slowness, its rhythm. I can feel the pulse in his wrist, through the soft grey knit of my Stroke his cock ith bana peel a muted staccato throbbing hypnotically.

He's humming, his mouth a thin line across his face, upturned slightly at the corners. I try to make out the tune, but I suspect it's of his own making. He's happy, and I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. His hand squeezes my thigh in response.

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If you're hungry, I put some fruit in a bag in the back seat. Oh, and a couple bananas. The shapes outside the car are, I suppose, trees, blowing by us. The sunny late autumn day has left the land looking as though it has been dusted with cinnamon and paprika, robin's breast hills against robin's egg sky.

From inside the car, the forms resemble Stroke his cock ith bana peel giant upturned egg carton; soft matte orbs, rusty swells.

Richard's humming again, but the tune has changed. Longer, drawn out notes buzz over his lips. I smile, and sink more deeply into his shoulder, half-shutting my eyes.

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His humming takes on a questioning melody now, like it's raising a single eyebrow. It almost sounds cheeky. His single stroking finger on my thigh is joined by others, and becomes a broken chord, strumming over the fabric of my skirt.

The ribbon road and cinnamon trees of our movie speed by while his fingers move as slowly as an insect's, one leg at a time, towards the hem of my skirt. They curl there, grasping it like the edge of a leaf, and carefully begin to pull it back.

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The tips of his fingers trail lazily over my knee, and up my caramel coloured thigh. I giggle a little.

His fingers move up my thigh like they are climbing a rock face, pulling the rest of his hand up as he finds each individual finger hold. It's like watching his hand do a bridal march up my leg: He's doing it on purpose.

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He knows how much I love his fingers working on me, and inside me. I ease the seat back and raise my booted right leg up onto the dashboard. My skirt's raised to my waist now, and all that's between Richard's long fingers and the buffet between my thighs is a pair of simple cotton panties. Richard's glancing back and forth between the road and my bare thighs. It seems like we're moving faster, but it's hard to tell when I'm laying back a little more.

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The toe of my boot on the dashboard seems frozen in space while all around it colours and shapes blur past on either side. It stands defiantly, guiding the way like a ship's figurehead. Richard's fingers continue their ascent of my thigh, and soon I feel them lovingly tracing the lacy elastic of my panties. They probe under, and weave through the forest of cashmere corkscrews damply matted there.

My hips rise involuntarily, and my body groans as my head rolls back. I already want to buck against the heel of his hand. He looks over quickly to see my smile as the first of his fingers delves the honeyed groove of my pussy.

The car suddenly lurches—not much, but enough to know what has happened. He's had to avoid something in the road. Richard brakes a little and, I guess, moves the car into the other lane.

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You won't get no lovin' out of me. Poor angel, Rich is going to leave you high and dry. Come on, help me out. If you're hungry, have a piece of fruit," he laughs, sticking his tongue out at me. I'm peeved at Richard for getting me all worked up like this and not finishing the job. I'm more peeved at him for taunting me.

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He starts humming again, some stupid comical tune, game show music, that's supposed to tell me he's not listening. My fingers lightly brush over the crotch of my panties, sending an unanticipated jolt through me.

The spicy heat of my pussy is already floating through the car. OK, I think to myself. Two can play at this. My fingers dig deeply under the fabric of my panties, stretching Stroke his cock ith bana peel to accommodate my hands. I use one hand to pull the crotch to the side, lewdly exposing my nest, while the other searches inside. I make very sure Richard gets a really good view, moving my hips in the seat and adjusting my legs so he can't miss the action. My hand separates my swollen lips like I'm slicing a peach in half; the Stroke his cock ith bana peel inside glistens over my fingers.

Easily, they slip in, siphoned into my core. I slowly piston my fingers in and out of the seeping wetness, my pussy sucking noisily at them with each little stroke. Richard looks over and I pull my fingers from my panties.

They're soaked in my own cream, and I swirl my tongue over them as I stare right into his eyes. I raise both my feet to the dashboard, let my hands fall back to my hips, and begin pulling my panties down.

The lace edges brush over my thighs, then encircle my boots as I pull them over my feet. I kick them to the floor and then shift my hips forward so I can spread my legs as far apart as possible in the seat. Oh Claire indeed, I think, reaching into the bag and pulling out a heavy banana; ten inches of thick, curving shaft.

Screw Richard, I think. He's going to see just how well I can do without him. I run the banana provocatively through my wet slit, covering it in my own cream. Its firm skin slides effortlessly along my folds, while its girth spreads my lips even wider.

My clit is swelling against it, and I realize I've stopped humming and started moaning. Richard's surprised voice snaps me out of my bliss: Girl, everyone is going to see you…oh God, baby…" Who's going to see, I wonder. No one here but us, after all. Everything else is just a blur of colour and sound.

If there's Stroke his cock ith bana peel world outside that window, its eyes see us for less time than they take to blink, and never trust what they see in any case.

Anyway, if for even a moment they do, I bet they'll smile. I position the knobby base of the banana at the entrance of my pussy and begin pushing it in.

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It feels nicely full; its curves pressing thickly into my walls as I move it deeper inside. I pull it out a little and push it back in, further this time. Desire rumbles deep from my belly as I strain to take more length. It's slick enough now that I only need one hand; my other heads for my nipples, under my sweater, and begins pulling on them until they stand like Stroke his cock ith bana peel ready for takeoff.

I pull the banana all the way out of my pussy; it comes away with a wet pop, and then I quickly shove it in again, as hard as I can stand it.

I cry out; there is a little pain, but the flood of warmth through my body swiftly ignores it. I suddenly realize the motion has changed. The car is still.

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I open my eyes and Richard is no longer driving; he's pulled over, watching me intently. Through the windows, I see the tree branches parting their rusty leaves from their field of vision, like dark swimmers moving through a kelp jungle, curiously observing my movement. Wordlessly, I continue working the banana inside me. I can feel my juices sliding out over it and trickling through the deep cleft Stroke his cock ith bana peel my backside.

Richard's rubbing my leg, stroking my head. Let me watch you come. Richard pulls my sweater up over my bra and pulls each of my flushed breasts out of the embroidered cups. The friction of the material against his skin intensified the pleasure of her touch, and With agonizing leisurely strokes, she teased his body into a taut knot of need.

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mouth on him, swallowing him with the same ease she had that damn banana. His cock jumped as she blew a cool breath across his skin before her teeth. Mira Stroking My Big Penis Head With A Banana Peel Until I Cum A Lot en shiraga-zome.info, el mejor sitio de porno hardcore.


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