The closest contact I had with her was one hug. The rest was all at the end of a brush or a spray of paint. She’d been a collaborator on the piece. ...hat expression of death on her face was her orgasm instituted at her suggestion without my help. Still no chance to answer.“I’d trade freedom for security,” a quiet girl with a bandana on her head said. “As a woman, I’m constantly afraid. I looked at the painting and felt that was my life. I expect the bullet, figurative or literal, at any time. It. The warm washcloth again, this time I rubbed her now bare mons. Even here Debra had a light tan skin tone. Beautiful! Now clean and bare, I removed the washcloth and ran my finger up her slit, coating her clit with her slick juices. "Now, roll over and I'll finish you." I said. Debra hesitated only briefly, then rolled over. I got her on hands and knees, with her head down. A soft sigh escaped her lips and I could hear her pussy lips part with a sticky smack. I think she thought I. More

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