”“You are sure?” she asked, in an adorable French accent.“Yes, Merci. Don’t worry about me.”She stood up and took the seat next to me, det...rmined to do a good deed.“Are you ... afraid of the flying?” she whispered, conspiratorially. I latched on to that, because I was clearly unwell and the real reasons were best kept to myself. I looked sideways and just nodded, feigning embarrassment. She smiled.“It’s okay. I have always the fear as well. This is the worst. The waiting. When you are flying,. Was this another way into the private property of the gate owner, a privileged opening into a special world buried deep in the rolling hardwood vales? Was the “pass” like a mountain pass, a gap in the ridges of land covered with forest that ran away from the bike trail on both sides, a pass that led to something magical?It was too much for my curious nature. I mounted my bike and set off on the trail through the woods. For a way, it ran parallel to the barbed wire fence along the valley. . Then I found another smaller envelope, "My special Love". The handwriting wasn't hers. Peter? Of course. Inside were three pictures, one with my mother on the couch, one on the bed, one in the shower, all while masturbating. In the first two she was young, but the last one was taken eight years ago. I had all those pictures on the carpet before me, and I cried. I missed her so much. I wanted so much to talk to her, about those pictures, about Peter, about their love. I was so jealous of them.. A need to breed me as, making me your property.I lean back as you grab my waist to remove your cock almost completely to ram it home again, my ass flexes and grips tight to your cock. We slide down closer to the sofa, as you spread my legs wide for deeper access to my insides. "Your ass is on fire baby, so warm and tight", you speak. A sheen of sweat covers your chest, as I dig my fingers into the small of your back. I thrash my head side to side, gasping as you pound my insides. The slapping.
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