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Thumna likh ha ki thumara booba 36 ha .pir unhona ak inch tap nikla or mara pass aa gaya or mara booba napna lagha .matha -oh sach ma 36 ha or ak dam karak . Tho ma sarma gaye .matha -thumna nipple ka clour broun likha ha dakta ha .pir us na mara bloua utar dea tho mana bra nahi phani the tho mara booba uchal ka bhar aa gaya .matha -oh no bra pir bhi itna karak ha thumara booba or colour bhi ak dam brown ha ‘tast kyasha ha ya kaha ka us na mari nipple moo ma la lea or daba 2 ka choosna lagha .tho ma garam hona laghi .Pir who mari kamar pa hat rakha or napna laghi .or who bola ak dam patli 28 kamar ha .pir us na mari gand naphi or bola thumari gand bhot saxy ha bunty tho thumko bhot chooda hogha .i-ha , pir us na kaha ki thumari choot ak dam gori ha dikho mujko.pir us na mari sadhi utari tho nicha kuch nahi the tho ma puri nanghi ho gaye .matha-sach ma baby thum ak dam mal lagthi ho.pir us na mujko gob ma utha ka apni gopha pa la gaya or waha ja ka mari dono gangha chori kar de or. Her lips tasted so wonderful, and my physical reaction pushed against her. She pushed back, pushing me on my bed.She pulled her blouse off and also her bra; releasing the perfect breasts I remembered from that day she was 16. They were still as perfectly round and symmetrical as I had remembered, but must’ve been a whole cup size larger now. She dropped them over my face and I relished in the enjoyment of the nicest tits I’ve had the pleasure of sucking on my entire life.She moved down and just as she was going to unzip my trousers, there was a knock at the door.I got up, and went to the door, opening it to my most recent girlfriend, Danielle – a redhead, also with beautiful eyes.“Danielle, what the hell...”“Steven Knox, I haven’t heard from you in over three months. I’d been waiting for you to contact me to go out. You don’t return my calls at all. Why not?”Candy walked in, having put her shirt back on but not her bra. “Stevie, who’s the tramp, anyway?”“Who the hell are you?”.
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“What the fuck? You got any idea how late it is, motherfucker?” The woman at the door was not what I was expecting. Some greasy aging biker, perhaps, with a beer gut. Or maybe some nervous nerdy guy, wired up to his eyeballs from cooking meth all day. Instead, we were greeted by a curvy, dark haired woman dressed in a fuzzy maroon robe looking like she was about to put a bullet through Red’s skull, something I felt justified thinking, seeing as she was holding a scary looking gun and pointing it at him like she knew how to use it. “Must be your ex,” I quipped, the coke giving me a sense of courage. Besides, it wasn’t me she was aiming at. “Gail,” Red murmured, standing as perfectly still as someone flying high on snow could. I’d been right, not that he’d ever mentioned her name, but there was a tat on his bicep with her name on it. “What is wrong with you, Red?” I took it as a good sign that she lowered the gun so that it was no longer pointing at his head, less so as I.

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