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Any port in a storm. You know… just to be sociable. He popped a Guinness and allowed the pleasing hiss to release as he slowly poured a proper pint and presented it to her.

After serving himself, he held up his own. It was full of mirth and infectious as hell. Connie laughed along with him and clinked his glass. What do they call it? He caught her foot gently with his free hand. I am from here. Some might call me a banana.

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She thought it looked good on him. Connie had a beautiful oval face with dark almond eyes. Her full lips showed bee-stung russet lipstick. She used a judicious hand with her makeup to emphasize her sharp eyebrows and pale, smooth complexion.

The woman wore a tight red bustier and a short denim mini skirt with strategically torn thigh-high fishnets. Her whole body was in miniature: Connie remained unsure about this guy, but she got a positive vibe from him. She perched on the giant chair with her foot in his hands, curious as to what might happen next.

Besides… she could hear the storm outside, and being out there would suck profoundly. Her beer tasted delicious and soothing. They silently regarded each other over the rims of their glasses.

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The man broke the silence and began unlacing her boot. Connie licked the beer off her lips and made an innocent face. Whatever do you mean? She luxuriated in the sensation oh having this man peel off her sodden footwear.

He dared a quick glance up her skirt, blushed, and focussed on his task. His strong, callused hands got her boots off in a flash. One of her toes peeked through a hole in the fishnets. She played it cool and sipped more beer, trying to hide the randiness this impromptu foot massage provoked. He took his time and enunciated the consonants. Connie wondered if he fucked the same way he said it. That made her squirm in her seat. Flashes of mild, tingly pain shot up her body and evaporated, disappearing as she relaxed.

This was getting intimate. The space between her legs simmered. The man moved on to the other foot. Connie squealed, then grunted, then got quiet. She watched him earnestly and sipped her beer again. Who the hell are you? He leaned in audaciously and kissed her exposed toe.

Connie gasped, then laughed. He kissed softly first, but when he came back for seconds he took her toe into his lips and began to suck.

Connie moaned and became as wet as a happy hour highball. Her whole body thrilled with arousal as he kissed her dainty foot. Working both his thumbs into the hole in her stocking, he ripped it wide. His hand went in and cupped her calf, which allowed him to draw her foot forward to his mouth.

He sucked each of her toes, starting with the big one and working his way down. He used his free hand to knead and massage her other foot. Connie leaned back in the overstuffed chair. All her pleasure centres screamed for attention. Her earlobes burned hot and her breasts ached.

Her elbows tingled and her thighs twitched. Between her legs, her pussy was a tender knot of desire: Wow… that went fast. Discarding the glass, she put a hand on each arm of the chair and skooched her bum forward.

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The denim skirt rode up, exposing her pale thighs and black thong. He stopped kissing her toes and peered up at her. Using the fingers of each hand, he traced lines from her ankles up to her thighs. As he approached her pussy, Connie blinked and bit her lip. Finally, he cupped her ass on each side and pulled her forward to the edge of her chair. He leaned in and lay his face between her legs, rubbing his nose and lips against her. The man nibbled as he kissed, taking in her wonderful sweetness and spice.

After an eternity of pleasant agony, he tucked one deft finger under the fabric of her thong and pulled it aside. Connie twitched anxiously at the sensation of being exposed. Her pink, slick labia peeked from a wisp of black hair.

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He explored her with his pointed tongue, running it along her lips before slowing at the top. He flicked and probed her pretty pussy until her bud was revealed. Connie gasped and clutched the arms of the chair as his attentions landed on her clitoris. She arched her back and stared blankly at the ceiling, surrendering to the near-mystical sensations dancing through her body. The man probed deep and hard, pushing his tongue into her tight cunt. Then he pulled out and licked her clit three times: His licks fell into a musical rhythm, like an other-worldly jig.

Above his head Connie whimpered and wailed, growing more desperate with each successive beat. She had long since closed her eyes. Her body whizzed through a bright sky. She felt as if she raced up a flight of stairs and leapt into an airy abyss. She came like a thunderclap. Pleasure pulsed through her and overtook her body. She rode each wave of her orgasm, becoming an explosion of pulsating gold light. Back in the real world Connie had grabbed the man by both ears and yanked his face into her crotch.

She ground herself against him, breathing deep, but otherwise fell silent. She climaxed against him repeatedly, in rippling succession, and wept a few tears, making her mascara run. After a long time, and with a shuddering sigh, she finally relaxed and let him go. He peered up at her from under her cunt.

Damn… his eyes did twinkle.

matilda and ermine porn

You will need to know that because you will soon be yelling it rather loudly. Connie sat up straight, aware of the near-criminal wet spot they had made on the chair. She followed his example and began to undo her corset. Whatever do you mean by that? Michael stopped to admire her naked torso and smiled at her appreciatively. His shortness in no way undermined his lithe and tight body.

His rock hard pecs and abs showed a dusting of ginger hair. Celtic knots and pagan designs ran all the way up his muscular arms and over his broad shoulders. Around his neck he wore a thick gold chain. Michael unbuckled his belt again, with a celtic knot as a buckle and dragged his pants and briefs off.

Pardon me for a moment whilst I don flowy robes and dust off my indeterminate Scandinavian accent.

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I say, this really is frightfully fun, what? I shall be taking dinner at the Club this evening as usual, my dear. Can I get a what what? At the sight of him standing in the doorway, tall, unmerciful, Amelie's face creased with the advent of womanly tears. Tell me that isn't a gun in your pocket! For God's own love, tell me you're just happy to see me!

Patch-Woodside confessed all to Wilbur-Hopkins and myself. Moreover, I don't exactly dance at your end of the ballroom, what what? And she probably looks vaguely like the Bostonian who married into the family back when there was a trend for American heiresses to attach themselves to titles. Someone from Boston and like some guy shaped like a cello whose claim to fame was coming over with James I and having a portrait painted with a goat, in a purple velvet jacket, and achieving relative power for his talent for finding anything said by the monarch funny.

I actually find myself strangely interested in the royal wedding. Must be a common wealth thing. Lady Margaret Charles-Addams of Alton. Hmm, I think I've got my regimental tie somewhere Also, you too can have a string of letters after your name, granted by the crown. As long as you were on the right side of that tussle in the Colonies, fwhat.

He begs to present, however, this leopard-skin tea cozie as a token of respect and affection upon the occasion of the Prince's nuptial day. I take half and half in my tea, thank you.

Enjoying the fuck out of this thread. Also The Body Shop gave me a cupcake and I didn't even purchase their wares. Lovely to meet you all.