Mrs. W. was a frumpy, lumpy old redhead, with a wide ass and a prominent boob shelf jutting from the shapeless sack dresses she wore. To my nineteen ...ear old self, she seemed ancient, although I suppose she was somewhere in her late fifties to early sixties.My room was on the third floor of the old house, sort of an attic under the roof with sloping ceiling and two dormer windows. There were two overseas grad students on the second floor, who I rarely encountered, and Mrs. W. resided on the. She had started the game, and as much as she was enjoying it, she wanted the next stage. But she also wanted the teasing to continue. She hated the thought of him with another woman, and even though she knew it would never really happen, his words dangling the images in front of her made her hot and wet, building the tension to what she knew would be a powerful climax.“Yes, you’re getting a little dry,” he replied.“I’m really not,” Jennifer said, trying to subtly move her hips so that his hands. More

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