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Purdy, "Are you going to go along with this farce?" Ms. Purdy stared at the floor for a few moments, then looked at Sandra. "I think the girls have a good point. If any of you don't want to participate in the extracurricular activites, then you should leave the class. I will give you a complete refund Sandra. Do you want to leave?" Sandra bit her lower lip, her eyes narrowed. She thought for a minute. Finally she said, "I don't want to leave. The fact of the matter is I enjoy watching what's going on. I'll pose nude, but no blow job. Is that good enough?" Cynthia smiled and said, "Good enough. What about the rest of you?" "I'll pose nude," Serena said, "but I won't pose with him." She smiled at me. "It's nothing personal, it's just that, uhm . . . I don't like men." Serena was in her early twenties but still looked like a teenager. Her breasts were small, her waist narrow, her legs long. I found her bright, cheery brown eyes, upturned, perky nose, and thick sensuous lips very. And then, again finally, Gretchen from the other side of those walls, alternately losing breath and screaming for greater depth and speed as her ass was pushed to swallow meat she could hardly hold for a last squirt of sperm where it didn’t belong. The family regrouped in the main room, the girls collected on the couch close to their mother and George seated in the lounger, all of varied post-coital flush and the gargantuan sex toy still lying in wait unexplained. George drank beer, his bald cock fat and exhausted in his lap, and sensed he would be audience again to something among his women; the females spoke only with their eyes and smiles and slight motions and adjustments – to George as well, but becoming increasingly involved and inversely less conscious of his watch. Bridget began un-packaging the synthetic cock – she could have been only unfolding a newspaper, as naturally obvious as they all were nude, but the moment announced itself; she and Gretchen carefully strapped.
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