Eeraye Teyanidi2

Oh, shit. Oh shit. Eat my pussy. Eat my beautiful pussy." I licked and slurped that piece of pink flesh making Cher breathe heavily and scream a bit. I went at it keeping my tongue on the target, and what a sweet target it was. I could munch on that shit all night long. Now it was her turn to have some fun with my cock. She licked and sucked like a pro. I've had plenty of blowjobs throughout the tour but this was becoming the best one yet. "Suck my cock", I said, "suck my hard cock. Oh, yeah, just like that. Suck my big cock." She sucked it so good I was about ready to scream myself. What this girl could do was incredible. Her oral performance was lasting as long as mine. Once the sucking and licking ended I was on my back with Cher riding me hard. . Rubbing my eyes and stretching, I realized that I didn't want to read any more Gillespie. I didn't want to read Jens Peter Jacobsen, either. I thought of Alice. I had looked her up. And she'd made a remark about an article of mine.In the library, at the bibliography table, I thought I'd look in the most recent volume. "Singleton, A." had two entries: a Ford and a Haggard. The previous year listed a piece on A.E. Coppard, whoever he (or she?) was. And the one before that featured an article on Anna of the Five Towns and one on Wilde and Beerbohm. I decided that five items would be enough and took the elevator upstairs, where the entire floor appeared deserted.I hunted up the five journals, put them on a table near one of the panoramic windows and made myself comfortable. I caught myself staring out over the trees toward the Pacific, sighed, and opened Nineteenth-Century Fiction to "The Image of the Woman in She." It was awful. Not only was it a pastiche of Goethe's notions of the.
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