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"Anything good on tonight?" Arlene asked."Not much, same old violence and stupid sit-coms," her sister answered."Wendell, why don't you and I play one of your video games? You get tochoose," Arlene offered."How about X-Men!" Wendell suggested."Fine by me," the boy's aunt replied. "I get to be 'Storm'," she insistedknowing that she was Wendell's favorite character."Well, all right," Wendell agreed. As they each got their game controllers and started the game, Arlene wentto the screen showing the all of the game characters and their pastscores. "Aren't you the only one that plays this game?" Arlene asked her nephew. "What do you mean? Everybody plays this game," Wendell answered."No, I mean this game, your game?" Arlene asked."Just me and my friend Shelly?" Wendell replied."Shelly?" Arlene asked."Next door neighbor," Madge answered. "Nice enough girl. A year olderthan Wendell and just as cute as they come but, other than her blonderinglets, she's got a mean streak and is a little bit of. I was happy to do whatever she preferred, and she knew it.My mother and I headed to the waiting room.My father was reading the paper. He glanced up. Mom shook her head and he went back to the paper.Betty had Alexander in her lap. She had a wistful look on her face. Her three kids rushed up to grab me, each calling out, "Daddy."Harry asked, "Did Mommy Two have her baby?" I saw Betty flinch."She's having it now," I told him.'Mommy Two' developed quickly and naturally. The kids were at our house quite a bit. They discovered what I had: Karen's heart was a boundless wellspring of love that was fully available to them.She was married to daddy."Mommy is Mommy," explained seven-year-old Nancy, "so Alexander's mommy is like a second mommy. So Mommy is Mommy One and Alexander's mommy is Mommy Two."There was not a trace of doubt in her voice, there rarely was. She was just explaining the order of the universe to her Daddy.As always, at the end of such an explanation, there was either the.
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My tongue roamed her body. She was beautiful. But more than that, she was wonderful. I kissed her smooth mound and she parted her legs, inviting me to lick her. Her pussy was as beautiful as the rest of her, and she tasted divine. I sucked her labia and her clitoris and then I kissed her crotch and licked her thighs."And when are you going to get to the best part?" she asked mischievously."Which part is that?" I teased back."The part, Mr Clark, where you lick my arse," she said, triumphing over her reservations and perhaps her upbringing."Turn over," I said firmly."On my knees?" she asked."On your knees," I said. "I am going to lick your arse."And I did. Her backside was as demure, as classy as everything else about her. It was elegant, even. She had lovely, smooth buttocks and the halo around her little bumhole was smooth and had a sort of tanned look."Oh my god, Mr Clark," she gasped. "I can't believe someone is finally doing that to me. It's fantastic. I'm partly ashamed of myself.

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