He didn’t bother to call until after all the Sunday morning shows were over. We’d watched them while eating breakfast. Apparently, my impression o... the Soviets had scared the shit out of them. It hadn’t helped that someone had filmed me in Afghanistan, casually carrying the BRDM through the air, then tossing it like it was a simple children’s toy. There had been a Reuters news crew doing a simple story on road construction in Moscow, and they’d managed to catch the last half of my performance. My pussy and breasts were so near to his hands, so near to his mouth. He didn’t dare to touch me, he didn’t try to take the advantage I voluntarily offered to him, he just looked and admired my dancing for him. His eyes glued to my ample breasts which were swaying nicely, to my open pussy which was exposed to him. The rhythm of my dance had again increased with the rhythm of the music, I didn’t even know how I could do this. My hips, my pelvis and my pussy gyrated at a so high speed then. The. More

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