Phil’s thrusts became more powerful and I was building up towards an orgasm. At this moment, the head of Mrs. Johnson appeared on the footpath, righ... below me. “Hi there, Anette, are you cleaning the attic?” she asked. “Yes! Yess! Yesss! Mrs. Johnson, I’m cleaning the attic,” I replied. Mrs. Johnson was content with my answer and she walked away. Then, disaster: Phil pulled out of me at the worst possible moment. This was like cruelty to an animal. I quickly turned my head back and whispered:. But rather than complain, I moaned, "das fühlt sich gut." (that feels good), as I spread my legs wider still. I wanted him to see my swollen pussy, to see the excitement seeping from my vagina. I wanted him to see my nervous little sphincter clenched so tight as his fingers brushed against it. I was a bitch in heat. I felt his thumbs slowly sliding between my inner thighs as he massaged and separated my cheeks. His thumbs were resting cautiously on the very outer lips of my vulva. I could. More

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