“From now on, it will be known as your slave outfit. I may want you to wear other things. But when I say ‘slave outfit,’ I will be referring to ...hat you have on now. Clear?” Her voice was low, trembly. I’d bet anything her pussy was soaked. “Y-yes, Master, it’s clear. You have something for me to wear?” I knew she wanted her question to sound casual, but there was excitement on the underbelly of her words. Already acquainted with my imagination, she thought I was up to something. I’d bet she. “What a hoot!!” She said: “Better hook it, Marcos!!” But all I wanted was to bump fuzz, and I had to exhibit brain one her, and continue nonetheless.Her husband was now dancing a rhythm clumsily in front of us, but on trying to digest these circumstances, I realized my dick was still compromised between her legs keeping its original erection. I chose to move slowly and keep fucking instead, or would get the hell out of here. She was so tense that wasn’t sure about what to do showing a pale. More

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