I chosethe yellow house to the left, and tremblingly walked up the front path.Hands full, I rang the doorbell. No response. Rang it again with my left...inkie knuckle. Perhaps nobody was home? No. I heard heels on wood andsomebody opened the door. A businesswoman in a pantsuit a size toosmall, too important to be answering doors."Can I help you?"What in the world was I going to say? "Yes, please tell the peopleacross the street that I'm not a girl, really I'm not, because theyglued me into this. My fingers were down the front of my knickers and as I watched, I became more desirous to participate, to show an experienced tongue, lapping and licking, prodding and tracing, leaving a moisture laden trail of saliva, all the way from his ball sack to his bulbous cock head.The groans escaping his lips were gaining in frequency and volume, the girls were working him like consummate professionals, their girly tongues poking and licking him like a stick of candy, interspersed with an occasional. More

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