“No,” Ron replied. “Do you like me too?” Samantha asked putting his hand on Ron’s crotch through the blanket. “Mom, what are you doing?”...Ron was shocked. “Do you like your own mom?” Samantha asked again, “This morning I noticed you starring at my breast.” “The button of your top was not done and it was showing a lot of… your breast, so I got distracted. Sorry,” Ron apologized. “No, don’t feel sorry,” Samantha said, “But did you like looking at my breast?” Samantha was being a bad dirty mother.. Her body flows like a river of melting stones, her hair an avalanche of dark sand. Legends say the women of Guadeloupe are forged in earth by fire, quenched in perfection by salt water. She is a masterpiece from the volcanoes of her land. Black eyes on black skin on black soul. A wild witch born from a sulfur pit. A barren moon in the Parisian night. Her nudity is a dance, a mad trance. Your eyes waltz from her shoulders to the gorge between her breasts. Breathless, you climb her polished skin.. More

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