All very proper, but no substance. No passion. It could easily have been part of a hotel suite. Des Moines or Toronto or Singapore. They all look the ...ame. Not finding anything in the bedroom, she walked into her office. She called it an office, although it was just a bedroom where she had a desk, her computer, a TV and her books. A large easy chair with a floor lamp for reading. The window looked out on the same grey. Paul. Paul Saltzinger. He probably wouldn’t be hard to find. She looked at. I must give her my comfort again, Carl. Don't you understand?Her lips compressed again. She felt the spongy, puffy give of the bloated cunt-lips between them. She savored another trickle of sweet honey from the red wound, swallowed it with a shuddering moan.Her tongue came from between her lips and explored the incredibly silky texture of her daughter's twat tissues. She moaned again, half her mind aware of what she was doing.But was what she was doing any worse than having a dog's cock deep in. More

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