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Why not your place? Or her hotel room?” Frieda rushed out the words.“We’re in the process of--”“Taisez-vous!“ Natasha said. She shushed the three people watching her with a finger to her lips. “Oui. Vrai. Natasha Marie-Jeanne leCarre. Quatre Janvier, mil neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit.“She rambled off more French numbers and Owen’s eyes glazed over. He turned to Frieda. “Where would you go if you needed to burn an hour or so?”“Dad’s store,” Frieda said. She saw that was a bad suggestion. She tilted her head. “I don’t think you’d want to go hang out with a bunch of high schoolers playing pool.”“Good point,” he frowned. “Screw it. Let’s go see Janny at work.”“Plus vite. Plus vite.“ Natasha grumbled into her phone. Owen looked her over and frowned. He looked at Hafnan. She tried to smile broadly under her headscarf. She held Natasha’s two bags tightly against her knees. Owen turned to Frieda.She was bundled up in a heavy winter coat. Her brown hair came out of her pink toque in a thick. Mother gasped with the pain as I got rougher with her. I started to slap my mom’s tits around, making them bounce around on her chest. Then I attacked her nipples. Rolling them between my fingers, pinching them, twisting them, pulling them up and away from her tits, which stretched out into elongated titty meat cones. Mother moaned out loud but I noticed that the rougher I treated her nipples the harder and longer they became. Her eyes closed and her head rolled from side to side as I kept up my attack on her nipples. I was now twisting and pulling them up as far as I could. They were a full ½ to ¾ inches long and hard as rocks. The harder I twisted and squeezed and the further I pulled them out, the more mother moaned. The only time I let go of her nipples, was to slap her floppy milk bag tits around some more, which she was starting to enjoy too.I glanced again at mother's face and all at once her features appeared to contort in pain and to everyone's surprise, mother all at.
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