Breasty Doxy Trina Michaels Chokes On 2 Meaty Pipes

My shoes, sensible though they may have been, are nestled within the folds hard fuck of satin beside me--destined to be buried with their owner of a mere three days. The cruel joke, Groupsex so deftly played upon me by death, leaves my feet curled and arched as if frozen in the moment of orgasm. I am barefoot in death, much as I preferred to be in life. You lick your lips again, memories of our lovemaking rushing back to you. Tears well up as you again think of how you will never again feel the press of my body against yours, or experience the beauty of my lazy smile as we bask in the afterglow of wild, animal fucking. You bend low, and drink in my perfume again. Your lips blowjob hover above mine, your tongue running along the cold, crimson stiffness that once pleasured you orally--and now destined never to do so again. Bolder now, your hand slips into my blouse to fondle my left tit. Poking and prodding and squeezing as you kiss my face. Unsatisfied, you move lower, and fumble with the button on my pants. I wear nothing beneath the pantyhose; shorn even of my strawberry bush by morticians you realize likely took liberties with me already. Your hand slips underneath the waist of the nylons, and you marvel at the smoothness of my mound. No matter the fucking the morticians may have given me, they at least cleaned me up well. You fingers play for a moment at my lips--one on each side, with your middle finger rubbing at their slightly parted opening. Gently, as you did when I was once alive, your finger plays across my lips, as if knocking on a door. Where once I might have giggled and pushed you in with my own hand, now I lay silent, yet not unwilling. You press, and with slight resistance, my corpse allows the finger entry. A wave of heat washes over you, and you know that your last opportunity is upon us. Again you drink in the sight of me in my repose. The tragic beauty of my body as it lies in state is a far cry from the almost comedic position my final moments left me in. There I would lie until found, facedown in a pool of my own urine, vomit and blood. My disheveled hair, and broken stiletto heel the silent witnesses to the fatal blow job rush about the group sex house that brought me to a crashing finale. Fear not, dear one, for I was thinking of you before that fateful tumble--but sadly the wetness between my legs post-mortem was made not of my lust, but of the piss that leaked from my cunt when I died. Ironic that for all our experiments with water sports, my biggest gush goes wasted, as I die alone and horney. So I would stay prostrate, my luscious ass in the air as if awaiting penetration, cooling and stiffening and waiting for you. And now here you are, suddenly as lustful as I at the moment of my demise. You slide your finger in and out of my cold, dry cunt, allowing it to caress the velveteen softness of my inner folds, while your thumb gently dances about my clit. You push deeper and harder, the palm of your hand now pressing against my pelvis in a vain attempt to stimulate me; to feel me push my hips back against your hand, yet I am still. Any movement of my body is not of its volition, as you push faster and faster, deeper and deeper inside me. My corpse is swaying to the rhythm of your finger. My head now tapping a staccato beat against the casket, as if against the headboard of a bed. Perhaps that too is appropriate, as this casket is the bed I take my final rest in. Sweat stands out on your body as you pant with your exertions. Then, there is a stab of pain in your arm, and you pause, looking not at my pale face, but at where you have been bitten. In your passion you have forgotten the rose clenched in my dead fingers--but it has not forgotten you. A rivulet of blood runs from the gash torn by the thorn, down your arm, to drip from your palm into my awaiting womanhood. Somberly you withdraw, leaving some of your behind to dwell within me forever. He would leave in the morning. Their shelter was now sturdy and waterproof, managing to hold even during the harshest storms. With a satisfied smile he approached Kimon rapidly, swinging the Katana. I pointed down at my husband fighting Prince Meinard and... My juices gushed out, bathing the buzzing delight on my cunt. The yacht had passed through the straits overnight and cruised without incident to a small fishing village on the coast of South Circessya. "Stop talking Pia" At first, Nick just lay still, a little unsure of exactly what to do and was content to let Ashley takeover. Jada was gifted with a superior mind, Annie, blow job a single mother, had labored and denied herself so that her child could have the very best. And then I was alone, yet again. Her lungs burned and her heart raced and at the moment of release, Haley screamed louder than ever before. I’d like to buy some new clothes that fit my newfound sexual side, and stuff like that.” She's going to have a rest and try and feel better. “Dude, you gotta teach me how to do that! hard fuck After a couple of minutes had passed, Cindy asked sarcastically, "So, Rico, are you ready to cum yet? 'Stroke your dick and cum in the bowl' Seth commanded . 'Keep in mind that this is the last time you are allowed to cum in a very long time.' Just as Groupsex Fred was pulling the limo into the hospital parking lot, my phone buzzed. He could only imagine what the elves blowjob would say if their selected bride were caught in the bed of the king without a formal proclamation to her new status. “I’m not complaining but why are such advanced aliens naked?“ Three of the guys were with us in a room full of crates of drinks and beer barrels. No Leah. minutes ago she knows I was balls deep in her daughter. I didn’t fancy the idea of cumming while I was laid out on the sun group sex lounger; there were way too many people around. "How are you feeling now, Doris," she asked. His hand grasped the cock, lifting it to the waiting mouth. "My show is about to start," I told her "can I watch it?"