The Ropewalk, The Albany, Piccadilly, London
Edmund Molloy, a journalist for The Daily Courier has volunteered to join an expedition to South America to look for prehistoric creatures. He has been seduced by Edith, the wife of the expedition's leader Professor Challenor. They have been engaged in a passionate tryst at the Great Northern Hotel. That evening Molloy has to meet with fellow expedition member Lord Hoxton, at his residence in Piccadilly.
I arrived at the
Albany, or just ‘Albany’ as the many distinguished residents tended to call it,
at eight thirty. The uniformed doorman took
me through the main house and out of the rear of the building along the famous
‘ropewalk’ covered path which was located between the double frontages of the
terraced houses that made up the rest of the Albany. He led me upstairs to where Lord Hoxton’s
set, as the apartments are known, was located on the first floor and knocked on
the door himself, so as to ensure that I was not some interloper.
“Molloy! Do come in old chap! Let me get you a glass
of Madeira!” said Hoxton, after thanking the doorman, who touched the brim of
his top hat before retiring. Hoxton was
casually dressed in a dark red smoking jacket, what looked like black silk
pyjama trousers and Turkish looking slippers.
I gazed around his drawing room with interest. It was in complete contrast to the chaos of
Professor Challenor’s study. Everything
was neatly arranged, even though the room contained a great number of objects. There
were the inevitable mounted heads of wild animals, reflecting Hoxton’s
reputation as a hunter. Big cats from Africa, gazelles and antelope of many
kinds. He explained that his big trophies were down in his house in Hampshire.
There were several mounted fish in cases and framed collections of fishing
flies, butterflies and beetles on the bottle green striped wallpaper. In one corner a stuffed cobra reared above a
bristling mongoose. The lights had green
shades too, giving a dim light with most of the illumination coming from a
large, crackling fire. One wall was part
taken up by a mahogany bookshelf stuffed with gold embossed leather volumes and
the occasional small statuette of African provenance. Along the top of a marble chimneypiece was a
collection of brass shell cases of different calibres, a bronze sculpture of a
wading bird and a brass clock. Above the
chimneypiece was a gorgeously luminous nude which was obviously by Renoir. There were several other paintings or
drawings of nude women on the walls. Not
as extreme as those in the Babylon Exploration Society but rather bolder than
would be acceptable in mixed company. One looked like a Boucher or a Fragonard
drawing of a plump young girl reclining amidst soft pillows, her plump thighs
guiding the eye towards an anatomically accurately rendered pubis. Another, of a girl in a tub was certainly by
Degas. Hoxton was, I knew, fabulously
wealthy, so the presence of such art did not surprise me. “Here,” he said,
handing me a very large glass of Madeira, “sit down and tell me about
yourself!”
“Thank you,” I said
sitting down on his large russet coloured leather sofa. I seemed to be spending
an inordinate amount of time discussing my life of late, although the version I
gave Hoxton emphasised my sporting activity rather more than my artistic.
“I think you’ll do
well, Molloy,” he said, after I had given him a brief account of my life so
far,“provided you can take advice. Going
up the Amazon is not like taking a skiff up the Thames. Many of the creatures in the region are very
nasty if not actually deadly: jaguars, anacondas, electric eels, piranha...
Deep in the interior the local tribes are often hostile and equipped with
poison tipped arrows or blowpipes. Then
there is the fever, the risk of physical injury and such like. And everywhere the cursed, biting
insects. The jungle floor is alive with
them. Still, you look like a robust
chap. Done any boxing?”
“Yes, at school,” I
said.
“Can you swim?”
“I am a strong
swimmer; able to swim more than a mile with little effort.”
“Excellent. So, what
with your rather top level rugger, capped for Ireland I believe this past
season, I see you can take the knocks.
Do you pick up colds?”
“What? Oh no!
I am lucky to possess robust health, Lord Hoxton!” I replied, conscious
that he was conducting an interview far more searching than I had had at the Courier.
“Hoxton, is
enough. Lord James if you want to be
friendly!” he said. “Your editor told me,
at the museum last night, that that you are a fine artist. Are those some of your drawings in that
portfolio?” He indicated the folder which I had left by the door.
“Yes! I mean no!”
“Can I see them?”
“They are personal,”
I replied. “Private. Of a lady!” I felt
like I was teetering on the edge of a precipice.
“Ah! Those
sort of drawings! Well done! As you see,” he waved at the Renoir, “I am something
of a collector meself. I really would
like to see one!”
“I have one where the
lady’s face is not revealed. I can show
you that!” I stood up.
“Why? Am I likely to know the lady?” he sipped his
Madeira and looked wolfish.
“There is a
possibility, however slight, that you may meet her!” I said, carefully flicking
through the drawings. I wished I had not
left the first, almost innocent, one of Edith from the rear with her in the
hotel but I had given it to her and she had packed it in her case. I gingerly extracted the one of Edith sat
facing the back of a chair. I hesitated,
as not just her sex but her anus were clearly depicted. Her face, however, was not. I handed it to him.
“Good Lord,
Molloy! This is well done indeed! Do I take it that you are intimate with this
woman?”
“We have...an
arrangement!” I said.
“Splendid! You are a proper man and up to the task in
hand no doubt! Can’t bear to travel with
mealy-mouthed puritans who are squeamish about sex. Always like to add to me tally on these sorts
of trips. Don’t want some God-fearing
fellow telling me what is and isn’t right.
Seems to me if the gel is screaming in delight and flowing like the Nile
as you roger her then you can’t be doing anything wrong! Ipso facto!
What?”
“Have you, er,
experienced the women of the Anazon jungle before?” I asked. I had been expecting to talk to Hoxton about hunting
rather than women.
“Yes, but the women
of Amazonia are not particularly attractive by native standards. Stocky legs,
barrel like bodies, not very pleasing faces.
Not a patch on your Beja of the Sudan, your Polynesians, your Zulu
women, my how they can go at it, and what not.
Let alone the lovelies you find in the Levant and sub-continent. Some of
the loveliest women in the world in India and many of them are properly trained
in the arts of love. Not really natives
though, I s’pose. Some of them are close
to being civilised people. Still, when
they are face down with their arses in the air they all feel the same,
what? Just make sure you don’t roger a
girl from one of the cannibal tribes. In
Brazil I prefer the half chat girls. They can be spectacular but they will be in
short supply once we leave Manaós. Had a
couple of absolute beauties when I was there last. Sisters! Splendid! Up river a chap has
to get it where he can find it. Most of
the native girls near the main river will trade it for a few trinkets. Like the old days in the South Seas before
all the missionaries wrecked it! Nothing
like the first time you introduce a native bint to a good length of white meat. Finest feeling on Earth! Other than watching a fox torn to pieces on
your first hunt!”
“You obviously have
considerably more experience than I do, Lord Hoxton,” I said, the thought of
the famous hunter despoiling as many women as shooting creatures coming into my
head.
“Yes, well. Got to get your score up. What’s yours, old boy?”
“Score?” I replied.
“Yes. How many bints have you had?”
“
Well to be honest, I
have only had...er, four.” I decided to include Agnes and Madame Nathalie.
“Not too bad, old
chap. Many have achieved far less. We’ll get you something to play with in
Brazil I’m sure! Get you into double
figures, what? Perhaps we should have a
tilt at young Miss Blanc? Damn fine
looking filly, that, eh? Bit skinny for
my taste, though. Like big arses,
meself!”
"I think she is a very beautiful young woman!" I
ventured, meaning it.
"I say! Here's a bit of fun! Let's have a
small wager on her. what?"
"A wager? In what way?" I asked.
"Nothing complicated. Are you on for it?" he
looked at me. He seemed to want me to agree before agreeing the stakes.
I was worried he might propose something outrageous like five pounds.
He was looking at me carefully and I suspected that this might be another
Hoxton test. Given that his skills might well be responsible for keeping me
alive in the adventure ahead I decided to agree to his proposal.
"I will take your wager, even though I do not know the
object or the stakes!" I smiled and tried to look confident and like a man
of the world.
"Good man! First class!" He looked delighted
and poured us both some more Madeira. "Well the object of the wager is
obvious! First one to roger Mademoiselle Blanc wins!"
"Roger?"
"Yes! Roger! Fuck, if you prefer!"
"It may be a difficult objective!" I said,
remembering how she had cut Professor Challenor down to size at his lecture.
"That's what makes it a challenge, what? I rate
my odds about fifty-fifty. Yours a bit better!"
Really?" I said, surprised.
"Youth on your side! Closer to her age and what
have you! Now to win there has to be pretty good evidence that the deed
has taken place and, better still, a confession from the lady in question.
As to stakes. If I win I want a drawing of your lady friend in any
pose I choose!"
"Oh! Alright!" I said, so surprised that he
wasn't suggesting a large financial wager that I didn't think about how I might
persuade Edith to pose in order to pay off a bet because Lord Hoxton had won a
wager as to who could have Marguerite Blanc first. She might be amused, I
hope. "And if I win?"
"Well, I've been watching you admiring me Boucher
drawing, so you can have that!"
"What?" It must be worth a small fortune, I
mused.
"I have just acquired another of a girl with her plump
arse in the air, which is more to me taste than that one. Rumours are that
they are both of Boucher's wife. He got her to pose provocatively and
sold the drawings off to private collectors. What a top chap!"
He stood up and we shook hands on the wager and he toasted me as well.
"Good luck Molloy! And may the best man plunge
his way up Mademoiselle Blanc's hot, dripping cunny!"
"Indeed!" I said, wondering what she would say if
she knew what we were discussing.
"As I said, I think you have a fair chance at
her!"
“I am already finding
that a certain type of young woman is attracted to me because of my minor fame in
being part of this expedition!” I added.
“Ah, there you go! Make the most of them! I intend to spend the two weeks before our
departure fucking every piece I can! Fortunately
me forthcoming birthday party gives me ample opportunity to score dozens of
cunnies and arseholes too. Who knows, we may have all been eaten by dinosaurs
in six months time!”
“I will hope that you
will protect me from that, Lord Hoxton!” I said, surprised at his strong
language although he had been in the army, I knew, in Afghanistan, over thirty
years previously.
“Do me best, old
chap! But you’ll need a good gun
yourself. I’ll sort you one out.” he
smiled. “Anyway, back to your lady with
the enticing arse. Every woman I meet
from now on I will wonder if she is your splendidly built popsy!”He laughed and
stood up. “I would like to commission
you to do some similar drawings of some of me lady friends. Would you be up for that, eh? I’ll pay you ten guineas a drawing! Lots of artists can turn out a nude but not
many can so lovingly reproduce the details of the pudenda and anus! I do enjoy a nice tight arsehole, what?”
“I would be happy to
do so!” I said. Ten guineas a drawing! Nearly a week's pay!
“Excellent! Now, need to fit you out with a gun. Wait here while I get one. I have just the thing in mind! Have some more Madeira! I’ll be a few minutes as I think it is
somewhat buried under some trunks! Here
look at this list,” he handed me a piece of paper with neat writing upon it.
“I’ve listed pretty much everything you will need and where to get it. Army & Navy is your best place!” He left the room. I looked at the list and it did seem
helpfully comprehensive. I folded it and
put it in my jacket pocket. I stood up and poured myself another glass of Madeira.
I stood in front of the fire and looked
at the Renoir, closely. I wondered
about attempting a painting of Edith.
“James, what are you
up to? Come back to bed!” I jumped, nearly spilling my Madeira as I turned
around, looking in the direction from which the deep, sultry voice had
come. I saw a handsome black haired
woman. in her late thirties or early forties. emerging from a doorway. She
was dressed in a man’s white shirt, black stockings with red garters and, it
appeared, nothing else. The shirt was undone apart from the middle
button revealing the enticing slopes of a magnificent bosom. I
recognised her instantly as Hoxton’s companion from the museum lecture, Lady Caroline,
a prominent socialite widow about town who hosted a salon, in the old Parisian
fashion. She is a subscriber to this edition so I have ensured that
my account regarding her has her approval and I am grateful for her
recollections of subsequent events. “Oh! Hello, young
man! And who might you be? Wait! Of
course! The dinosaur chasing journalist! I
am sure that I recognise you from elsewhere, however! Ah, I have
it! You are the well know rugby player Mr…forgive me…”
“Molloy. Edmund Molloy!” I
said holding out my hand. She squeezed it gently and I was aware of
a strong musky scent from her body. Had
she just been...?
“Of
course! I think we have even spoken before, I believe. At
Twickenham, wasn’t it?”
“Your powers of
recall are remarkable, Lady Caroline,” I said.
I did now recall our meeting, when she had attempted to get into our
dressing room, somewhat the worse for Champagne.
“I never forget a
nice pair of legs Mr Molloy!” she replied, dropping on to the arm of one of
Hoxton’s red leather armchairs. She crossed her own legs and
displayed her elegant limbs including an enticing slice of naked upper thigh.
“It is an
appreciation I share, your ladyship,” I said, smiling.
“Mr Molloy! Are you flirting with me?” she smiled back.
“Of course not!” I
stammered. I looked at her again and she was still smiling and
bouncing her elegant bestockinged foot at me. She raised an eyebrow. “Well,
perhaps a little,” I admitted.
“Splendid! Ah
James!” she said as Hoxton returned to the room carrying a gun
case. “Your delightful guest is flirting with me in your absence!”
“Is he now?” said
Hoxton, placing the case on the coffee table and opening the catches. “I do
like a brave man! Now, speaking of brave, do you have any experience
of shooting, Molloy?” He lifted the lid on the box and took out a
rifle.
“Some rabbit hunting
back in Ireland,” I said. “But I was never a very good shot!”
“Well, if Professor
Challenor is correct our targets will be rather larger than rabbits,
what?” He handed me the rifle. “Winchester 94 lever
action six shot thirty-thirty. Easy to use, light and reliable. Good
hunting rifle and ideal for someone like yourself with limited
experience. You can have this one as a gift, as I own
several.” I turned it over in my hands, nervously. It was rather
more potent than the Lincoln Jeffries air rifle I had used on rabbits at home.
“You boys and your
guns!” declared Lady Caroline. “I am feeling quite
ignored! You can discuss dinosaur hunting another
time! Now how about we get Mr Molloy to take his clothes off and
join us in bed? Let’s see what his own armament is like!”
“Oh mama what a
splendid idea!” came another feminine voice. I turned towards the
door, to what I assumed was Hoxton’s bedroom, and was shocked to see a girl wearing
just a thigh length chemisea and black stockings.
Her naked upper thighs were revealed so she was obviously not wearing
drawers either. She would have looked
quite at home, dressed in such a manner, in the private rooms of the Babylon
Exploration Society.
“Honestly Emily, look
at you disporting yourself in front of a man you haven’t even been introduced
to properly!” said Lady Caroline.
“Well, mama, you
should introduce me! But I know who he
is from last night!” said the girl crossing the floor and displaying no sense
of embarrassment whatsoever. She had the same coal black hair as her
mother.
“Mr Edmund Molloy,
may I present my eldest daughter, Emily. She has been receiving
instruction from Lord Hoxton today,” said Lady Caroline. I wondered what the nature of that
instruction might be but I think I knew only too well. I pride myself on the fact that I
managed to deal with this extraordinary situation with some sang froid.
“Enchanted, Miss Emily!”
I said taking her offered hand.
“Goodness me, Mr Molloy, you really are
rather fine!” said Emily, smiling at me.
“I would agree with that assessment
entirely!” said another voice. I saw that another lovely girl had
stepped into the room; this one wearing just a chemise with no stockings. She
stepped up to Emily and put her arm around her waist. “I am Sarah,
Emily’s sister!” I took her hand too.
“Doubly enchanted!” I said.
“My younger sister, I should add,” said
Emily. The two were almost identical, although Emily had about two inches in
height on her younger sibling. Sarah was slimmer and her bosom looked
smaller than Emily’s, which appeared to have the same impressive proportions as
her mother. I was not certain of their ages. Under eighteen, I believed.
“I was just suggesting that Mr Molloy,
who is a well-known rugby player and extremely fit, should join us in bed,
Emily. I am sure James will agree. After
all he cannot really service three of us properly on his own!”
“I thought I had been making a good
show of it!” smiled Hoxton, sitting down in the chair Lady Caroline was perched
upon the arm of.
“Indeed, as ever! But the girls need a little more ploughing I
think!"
“I’d like to be
ploughed by Mr Molloy! Right this
minute!” said Sarah.
“Unfortunately,
lovely as you all are!” I said. “I have
my own lady friend waiting for me at an hotel!”
“Telephone the hotel! Invite her over here! Six is a much more symmetrical figure than
five! You can take Sarah, James can take
Emily and I can see if your lady has any Sapphic interest! What fun that would be! Then we can all change partners! It will be like one of your birthday parties,
James! I am so looking forward to
that! You should invite Mr Molloy!”
“Indeed,” said Hoxton,
smiling and stroking Lady Caroline’s hip under her shirt.
“Oh please stay!”
said Sarah, squeezing one of her cotton-clad breasts invitingly.
“I would like nothing
more in all the world!” I said, truthfully.
“But I cannot disappoint my lady. We have very little opportunity to be
together and she is shy and would be intimidated by such beauties!” I stood up,
trying to hide my erection behind the back of a chair.
“Well said,
Molloy. Look after your lady! I am sure I can handle these wildcats tonight!” said Hoxton.
“Oh, ladies, Molloy is a fine artist and I have just engaged him to make
some drawings of you. Show ‘em the one
you showed me!”
“Really?” Iasked,
hesitating.
“Yes! It is in exactly the style that I would like
of these three!”
“Oh! Very well!”
I opened my portfolio and pulled out the picture of Mrs Challenor with
her bottom on display once more.
“That is excellent, Mr Molloy! This is your lady?” asked Lady Caroline, showing
the picture to her daughters. I nodded.
“She has a very inviting fundament!”
said Emily. “I should enjoy sliding my
finger into it!”
“I suspect that she would enjoy that
too!” I said, thinking about her penetrating her own rectum the day before.
“Do get her to come over!” urged Sarah.
“We can lick her bottom hole together!” She put her arm around her sister.
“I cannot, alas! I really must leave!
“Take the Winchester!” said Hoxton,
handing me the case, which fortunately had a canvas shoulder strap. “Come again
tomorrow afternoon for some drawing!
About three!”
“Yes, do come!” said Sarah.
“We
intend to!” laughed Emily.
“I will do so!” I said, not really
knowing what I was letting myself in for.
“Your lady is welcome too, of
course. Is it the pretty blonde I met at
the museum?” asked Hoxton. “Agnes.”
“No.
She is a friend only,” I said.
“Excellent!” said Hoxton.
When I eventually found my way onto the
pavement in bustling Piccadilly once more I stopped and took a deep breath. My
mammy was right. London must be the
centre of all sin of the world, as she had always maintained and I was
thoroughly enjoying the fact!
I took the Number 14
from Piccadilly to King’s Cross and when I arrived at the Great Northern Hotel it
was rather later than I had intended. I knocked on the door and heard
Edith bid me enter. I closed the door behind, dropping the heavy gun case
on the floor next to my portfolio.
“Perfect timing,
Edmund, I was just about to take a bath.
Do come and join me!” she was dressed in a long towelling bath robe. She had me strip naked and put on another
bathrobe, handed me a towel and we stepped out into the corridor. She locked the door and we headed down it to
where the bathrooms were. We looked up
and down the corridor once more and darted inside the bathroom and bolted the door.
I turned on the taps. Edith removed
her robe to reveal her naked form and I removed my robe too, wondering at the
intimate familiarity with each other which we had gained so very quickly.
“I am sorry to be so
late. How was your day?” I asked.
“Well, I went out and
had tea with my friend Mabel, our alibi, which then turned into
dinner. I may have had a little too much
wine!” she giggled. “I telephoned George
who really had very little time for me. He was off to Liverpool to meet
the Booth shipping line and discuss arrangements for transporting the
expedition. He will be away for two days. We could extend our
illicit stay here, although given your increasing fame perhaps that may have
some risk. Taking breakfast together tomorrow would probably not be wise,
for example! How about you? Have you been approached by any more
panting young ladies!” I laughed and described my visit to Lord Hoxton
and the attention of his three lady friends. “And you were not tempted by
the prospect of a mother and daughters! I would have thought that a fine
prize for any lusty man about town!” she said as we climbed into the bathtub
together.
“Well, I don’t really
regard myself as a lusty man about town, as you put it. Any success with
the fairer sex is a rather unexpected product of the last few days,
really. And, anyway, who would bother with them when I have you waiting
for me!”
“How sweet! I
very much see you as my lusty man about town, however!” she
said rubbing her toes between my manhood and ballocks. Her attention meant that I did not remain
flaccid for long. “You do respond so engagingly quickly, Edmund. Look at
your lovely cock all stiff and throbbing! On which subject I have come to
something of an epiphany this afternoon while discussing you with my friend Mabel!” She started to rub my length between the soles of both feet
which, I thought, must take some delicate muscular control.
“Have you ever taken
dance classes, Edith?” I asked, watching her leg muscles flex as her dainty
feet massaged my manhood.
“When I was a girl I
did some dance. Can you tell?”
“Once, just once, we
had a pretty girl to draw in life classes and she had been a dancer at the
music hall. She started in ballet, I
believe. Like you, she had toned legs, a
particular poise and a grace of movement which are not common!” I ventured.
“Hah! That
would be down to Madame LeClerc my French teacher at school. She also was
the dance teacher and maintained that English women were like clumsy
hippopotami compared with French women in matters of deportment. When she
arrived at my school she made all us girls walk up and down the school hall,
correcting our stance. She carried a riding whip and would use it to
demonstrate our errors. “Chin up, shoulders back, chest out, posterior
in!” she would cry. Many was the time I received a firm whack across my
bottom because it supposedly protruded too far! I tried to explain that
that was just the way I was built!”
“You do have a
particularly fine posterior,” I said.
“Thank you! I
do think it is the one part of me that George appreciates. He invariably
takes me from behind, like a mare! Something I respond to, I should
add. He is rather like a horse in his approach. He just jams his cock up me and starts
thrusting away. Goodness I do enjoy
saying ‘cock’! That is partly Mabel’s
fault. Such a dirty mouth! She served as a nurse with the British Red
Cross Society in the South African War.
She has taught me many colourful terms over the years. If anyone had heard our conversation this
evening they would have taken us for a pair Spitalfields doxies!”
“I’d like to meet
her!” I said.
“I am sure you would
although at present I would not let her anywhere near you as she would be
dropping her drawers for you within a few hours, I suspect!” laughed Edith. “She
is a widow of around my age and saucy as Hell!” We chatted and washed each
other. “Good God, Edmund I really do
think I need your cock!” she said as she stroked it.
“I think you have it!” I said as she gripped
me firmly and began to frig me.
“No. I want it inside me! Take me
now! Rut with me! Slide it into me!
I make only one condition,” she said standing up in the bath, water
cascading off her trim body, “that you avoid the dog position. That I reserve for George. It keeps these physical relationships
separate from my married life!”
“Of course, but I thought that we were not going to engage in actual…you
know!” I said. “That was the agreement!” I had noticed that she had said ‘these
relationships’.
“Those were my terms which I am free to
modify! Look, we were so very close to actual copulation earlier and
the purpose of this arrangement is for you to serve my pleasure. The issue is not one of the level of physical intimacy, it was and is, that
of emotional intimacy. I had
concerns that you might become some lovesick puppy dog and start demanding
precedence over my husband who, I repeat, I love very much. But given
your now palpable appeal to others of the opposite sex I am fairly certain that
you will take this opportunity for what it is and not create any difficulties
for me or my husband. That has been my epiphany today. And you may
thank my friend Mabel for it! We discussed you at length. In
fact, we discussed your length at length!
So now, to use Mabel’s delightfully frank term, I want to screw you!”
And screw we did, in something of a frantic coupling. She had me lie down on my back on the
bathroom tiles (that provided an initial shock, I can tell you!) and mounted me
forthwith. There was no initial kissing
or caressing. No stroking or fondling. She held my cock up vertically, sat down upon
it and started to bounce up and down on me.
I could not resist squeezing her breasts however and she smiled at me
throughout the procedure. “Ride a cock
horse!” she said, increasing the speed of her movements. She was going at it so violently that I
popped out of her but she immediately stuffed me back inside and resumed. After
only a short time I was starting to get
close and realised it might be difficult to pull out before the vital moment, given that
she was on top.
“Edith, I need to withdraw!” I said.
“No!” she gasped. Britten had informed me that there were women who
pretended to be barren so they could become pregnant and extract money or even
marriage from the man. Given Edith’s
personal situation I thought this unlikely but still... I took my hands off her breasts, intending to
gently push her off me.
“Christ, Christ, Christ!” said Edith, her unfettered bosoms now bouncing
around outrageously. That sight was just
so arousing that I realised it was too late and I was spurting, for the first
time, deep inside a woman. Edith kept
bouncing away but her movements became slower and eventually she stopped
moving. She looked at me, smiling.
“I’m sorry, Edith,” I said. “I spent rather quickly. It was
just so overwhelming. Next time I will ensure that you also reach
your climax!”
“You silly boy! I came twice!” She laughed, as I lay
there on the tiles,my deflating cock still lodged inside her soft wetness.
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