Once nak3-d he put his arms around her and she pressed her back to the flocked wallpaper. It seemed that she didn’t want any foreplay she just wanted him to ram his c0-cck into her and start moving it in and out.
“Be rough,” she cried out, “I won’t break – give it to me hard baby.”
He’d never actually had it standing up before and it took a bit of manoeuvring to get his d!-cck into her crack. When he did she screamed as though she’d cv-mm already.
Chris loved the feel of her warm wet cv-nt and he would liked to have savored the moment but she wanted action and she grabbed onto the cheeks of his a$$ and started to grind his d!-ck and poke her tongue in his mouth at the same time. It felt so good he knew he was going to cv-m very soon and when he did she cried out, “Oh yes – Oh yes,” several times and breaking free she dropped to her knees and sv-ccked the dripping residue from his d!-cck
The evening was only just beginning and Cindy already wanted her a$$ slapped, her t!ts bitten and his entire hand rammed up her pv-ssy. After an hour and a half he was feeling completely shagged out but she didn’t let up. They did it backwards and forwards, up her a$$ in her mouth, on the floor, in the bed until his d!-cck was sore and he felt that at any moment he would have a heart attack.
“I love s3-x,” she smiled, “I could just do it and do it and do it.”
It was not what Chris wanted to hear. He knew that most men dreamed about meeting a girl like her but in reality such women could put you in an early grave – that’s if there was enough left to bury.
When she agreed to a brief respite he managed to cook up a couple of omelet’s, even though his legs had turned to jelly and he had a real problem standing at the stove. All the time he was cooking she, still nak3-d, had her arms around his waist rubbing her hairy snatch against his a$$.
Eventually he did manage to get her to sit down at the table but even then her bare feet began to assault his and it seemed like a precursor of what she had in mind for dessert. When he poured her a glass of wine she warned him that she had a low tolerance for alcohol.
“It’s some sort of genetic thing,” she said, “I end up falling asleep and we wouldn’t want that would we.”
“We certainly wouldn’t,” he grinned filling her glass to the rim.