“He’s number 56, Gladys. I assume you’ve seen this decorative handiwork? A woman chose to have him marked, permanently.”
Yes, my tattoo is most prominently displayed when bent at the waist, forehead on the carpet and knees widely spread.
The annoying giggles turn to loud laughter; yet my firmness seems to heighten.
Another trip about the expansive tiled floor and I find myself adoring the amazingly sculpted calves. As she strides, I lower my head to sneak peeks up the folds of Ms. Monique’s loose skirt. Her massive, dark brown thighs, so appealing to my maleness—perfectly round orbs and smooth as satin—project such feminine power.
During a second pause I cannot help but extend my tongue and lick, tasting her exquisite flesh near the ankle and smoothing my pink wet appendage up to her k
