Itwas his art that she loved not the man who crafted it. She loved hiswork deeply and overwhelmingly so and it seemed no matter what he didshe always ...ould.Quentin was a sand sculptor. He had a particular genius for working withwet sand that when he took his hand away the finished product would makeyou weep over what he had just done. He had won a slew of state andnational competitions and other artists; photographers mostly, hadsought to use their medium to preserve the transient nature of. So I reached back and grabed his cock. I looked back at him and he just smiled. What the hell, this is why I came in. I began stroking his cock slowly over the head and all the way back. He must be 9 inches or more. After a bit he reached up and played with my tits and then rubbing my pussy. I remembered thinking this was fun but about enough. I was not going to fuck anyone in here. Then suddenly I felt him puch my legs apart with his foot and him step foreward pinning me against the back of. More

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