I didn't know if he'd come in me earlier or in another girl, but from the small amount of watery cum he'd shot onto my tongue I knew I wasn't his firs... fuck of the day. Probably not even his third or fourth. That wasn't unusual this late in the heat of a southern Spain day. The number of willing girls under our beach umbrellas made getting laid just a matter of patience until a mouth or pussy was unoccupied. I was well satisfied, both in my well fucked pussy and in the knowledge that by my. The first was an antique leather-bound journal with a worn strap holding its covers shut, the second was a heavy envelope with my name, Melissa Gordon, written on it in neat (if old-fashioned) cursive hand. The letter inside was typed on expensive heavy-weight paper that had the company watermark in the center of the page. The letter explained that the law firm had been retained by a small, independent museum to find and return the accompanying diary to the nearest living heir of the doner.. Quickly disengaging from my cock she rolled over onto her back and smiled wickedly as she took the shaft in her hand, rubbing a finger over the juice covered head. Kathi didn't know we always referred to her as Chatty Kathi because she talked forever. Melody didn't know I had always fantasized about fucking Kathi. Melody's fingers guided me inside her again. I grinned, rolled my eyes and said, "Uh Huh...yeah." Kathi was telling me about problems at church. I would just say something non. You sign up, you do the job. So get on with it.We regrouped as a section — we'd got rearguard point, natch, so were going to be last to pull out — and sat in a pretty fucked up trench and listened to some franker speaking from the sarge. Who didn't even attempt to pretend that we weren't completely fucked — we all knew just how much we'd done to endear ourselves to the natives, knew that the recent set of 'tactical setbacks' — neck-deep-in-blood-SNAFU's as we'd experienced them — had left the.
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