The Damme meets the stallion
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The Damme Meets The Stallion-2nd Part free porn video
For the origin of the family 'dynamic' of the 5 sisters and their attitudes toward men, we need only go back in the 1930's and 40's to an isolated farm. Almost all the able bodied men have left, women have taken the man's place in the farms and factories. Women are also training to ferry planes to both coasts as production ramps up. The radio broadcasts and newspapers are mostly stories of war and stock market crashes. No strangers to depression and scarcity then, war rationing is back like a mooching relative, come to stay indefinitely. The menial labor like harvesting crops is performed by workers who are not from the U.S ( like the Braceros).
In June 1939 the US government sponsors African American flight training by creating Civilian Pilot Training Act, to be administered by Civilian Aeronautics Association to train pilots for a national emergency. The Act authorized selected schools to offer primary flight training to civilians. January 1941, the 99th Pursuit Squadron is announced and created. Eleanor Roosevelt will tour Tuskegee Alabama and be taken up in a plane piloted by Chief C. Alfred Anderson and return safely. Obviously. The Chief left a diary, but more on that later. Pearl Harbor answers that nagging question in the back of every ones mind: Will we be invaded next ? Yep.
War has always produced orphans; usually from the invaders and the women left behind while the men are either away or dead. Then there are the chance encounters that could only have happened during a war, between strangers destined to never meet again. If offspring are produced, it is a discreet personal affair. Not usually public knowledge. There is the distinct impression that there were many chance encounters of mutual benefit to the participants here on the farm. But all the details are the privy to only a few. So in effect those details are undiscoverable.
"Gentlemen make sure your charges follow military discipline to the letter. The reputation of the squadron is at stake and shirking of duty will be dealt with severely. We're training in a fishbowl and the brass has a magnifying glass trained on your sorry hides. One man's disgrace is all of our downfall. The one question they're asking is 'can we be trained ? Can we learn to fly?' Most of them think we're too slow and shiftless to react in combat. They are giving us the leftover planes in case we get FUBAR out there. You may not be good enough to get a parade but at least they think you're good enough to die along with them. Tryouts are over, the training season has begun gentlemen!
He looks at all the flight leaders in the eye. "Yessir!" they shout in unison.
" EXCUSE ME ?" replies Col. Lewis.. A deafening "YESSIR!! " reverberates on the valley floor as they are dismissed.
This area was chosen because of the similarity in geography and climate to the mountainous parts of Italy, even down to the occasional snow packs. The areas further south are quite similar to North Africa, Tunisia specifically. A young man fortunate enough to see color illustrations of other lands in barber shops, or in markets, newsstands or movie reels of the day, might have a general understanding that there was another world across the ocean. In fact, anyone with more than cursory knowledge gleaned from features printed in magazines would be highly suspect.
A row of nondescript barracks erected in 4 days will house the squadron. Fenced off from the rest of the farm, there is a clear perimeter of mowed fields giving officers an unobstructed view of the pilots' coming and goings. Not as secure and isolated as we once were- the Nazis have a spy network throughout the East coast, some at the level of a factory supervisor ! So we learned of security breaches usually after the fact. If loose lips sink ships, the brass was watching you and listening. But no one would consider singing unusual for Black people. A rhythm fell into the patterns of speech among the pilots; the hits of the day were used with new stanzas added. From a distance, the same tunes repeating throughout the day. The words too indistinct to make out, and even slang might be used as code to sing about an adventure with a white woman for example.
Part 2 Survival training
Huffing and puffing behind the drill instructor the men are exhausted. "What's wrong with you men? We've only gone 3 miles ! 3 miles as the crow flies ! Har har har. North Africa ain't nothing like Alabama. No plantations, sassafras tea, mint juleps, weeping willows. No women in summer dresses. Do you read me ?? I can't hear you ! " They stumble up and down ravines until they are covered in earth and dust.
They respond in cadence to their drill instructor.
" Sir ! yessir! by your leave sir !" as they quick-time back to the barracks. The whoops and hollers resonate as the men attempt to crowd under the shower heads. The cool water was invigorating, not like some Alabama sauna. " Smells like something died in here! Izzat you Rawls ??" Between the reverie and towel snapping the men seem to be venting a bit of steam, in this case a good thing. Some weasel of a shavetail got the brilliant idea of playing football to keep the men busy and perhaps place a few bets or have a boxing match- and perhaps have a few bets. "We will suffer enough losses during training, we don't need banged up pilots. Request denied." Too bad, the ring, the shower facilities were nice, but small. A few men took to hosing off outside in the dark. But the water had to drain so the only other place was a concrete pad with a small grate. This was fine except on a full moon. The moonlight would illuminate a torso if it moved too much. Moonlight is a time for harvesting herbs as the teachings say. At first a seemingly older woman barely makes a move but the pilot has spotted movement from with his peripheral vision. "Remember, if you see two orange eyes looking at you- you may have a dinner date." No movement, nothing. He slowly turns around and starts scrubbing himself. Water isn't a problem on the farm, the fields will lay fallow to make room for emergency landing sites. The planes can be slow lumbering whales and require lots of room in an emergency. No danger of enemy bombing runs means no runway damage crews working round the clock. You can still get lost however, run out of fuel and have to ditch somewhere mountainous, especially during night training. All this danger with no women in sight for weeks to brag to and woo into the sack .
The town nearby is off limits. The Lady of the estate suggests the nearby bunkhouse used during the harvest season when extra workers are needed. This small room can serve as a ready room in the tradition of the Lafayette Escadrille. Complete with wine if needed. Singing while marching can only boost morale so much. But with wine, you have Esprit de Corps! The estate has fruit presses after the harvest has been cleaned and trimmed and the overripened fruit removed. A valuable skill out here in the boonies, winemaking is tradition and a source of income for these women. Along with this modest wine harvest are the cured meats that are also a tradition in her family.
The early revile and intense survival training all day have the men spent by sundown. The meals and mess hall are a modest affair. And most of the men have been to cafes, bars and juke joints with better décor. As they slowly mill around for an evening stroll they enjoy a cigarette, something in rare supply here. The townsfolk got wind of the impending war and decided to gouge and profit from the war. What little they had went to the highest bidders. Still cheaper than the black market. The Lady is also out for a stroll. She recognizes his face from his night shower and beams a smile as she stares deeply into his soul, and he mistakes this for curiosity. "I take it you don't get many black men out here in these parts", he blurts out as he tries to break the ice. "Oh we get all sorts of people coming through here looking for work. My husband never gave handouts, he always had the men work for their meals, even young boys. Honest day's work for honest pay." The conversation has an incredible deja vu' to it. As they talk more they realize that folk medicine is part of both their traditions. They begin to compare notes and this young man is as well versed as any pre-med student of the time. The doctor and his wife are known throughout the valley as skilled practitioners. As they discuss general botany, she swears she is almost back when she had first met her husband at the local college. They married and both families felt blessed by their union.
She asks him for a cigarette and he gladly offers her a fresh one from the pack. She takes the one from his lips and gently puffs his cigarette before returning it to him. 'Don't worry I have enough," he says. "Oh no no, that's for you men! Women smoking and talking on street corners, hip flasks-ankle bracelets, all that's against the law for now!" He takes a puff on the cigarette and tastes her lipstick as he sucks on the tip and can't help but say 'ummm'. She laughs and he hands her the rest of the cigarette. The next night they make it a point to meetup in the dark for a cigarette. Still sharing the same cigarette like teenagers, they laugh and giggle quietly. That's because in the dark he is gently kissing her neck then working his way down to her cleavage. He pauses, smells and and tastes her imported perfume. She placed 2 or 3 drops; on the right side of her neck, her cleavage and wrists. As he breathes in her scent she can smell his body as he quickly unbuttons his fly. In a matter of minutes her house dress has been undone completely and he is slowly kissing her as he moves on top of her. He slides his hand into what appear to be bloomers . She pulls the cotton drawstring so he can fit his entire hand in her bloomers. She almost yelps as his cold hand rubs her tummy. He quickly smothers the yelp with a kiss as she finishes pulling him on top of her. She pushes some thing out of the way as she reaches for him to grab his warm thick member. As she can't find the tip, he slowly backs up and inserts his way slowly into her. She waits for him to hit bottom, but he slowly retracts to avoid hurting her. A loud scream would bring the MPs armed with colt automatics. Please, for God sakes don't scream. He thinks he should slow down before he breaks this poor Grande Dame in half.
"No, no .." she moans. "Please, I need a man. Please go inside of me as far as you want. I'll gladly do anything for you. Anything you want." He covers her mouth with his and slowly starts pumping long strokes in and out as he lifts her legs in the air as he spreads her apart. For half an hour he slowly starts to increase the tempo. Sure could use some music. He glimpses up from her face as he rams himself deeper into her with increasing force. Those 2 orange eyes. blinking slowly off and on. The puma seems to understand there is a mating ritual taking place and stares at him as he exerts himself faster and faster. She screams and rolls on her side. As he loses his grip on her ankles, her legs flop down and he jumps on top of her, covering them with his trench coat. The commotion scares the puma away as they both lie motionless. Nothing else seems to be moving as he continually presses deeper into her till she finally whoops and sobs and starts convulsing like a seizure victim. All the time he is ramming himself into her he is inhaling the scent from her cleavage like a bouquet, no like honey. He is tasting metallic from the cigarette butt. He seems to getting faint as the blood is pooling into the hips as he thrusts with everything he can. Not about to give into the orgasm, he paces himself and finds that after almost an hour he is still rock hard and his erection is throbbing, pulsing into her but no orgasm for him. She is almost comatose as his knob pounds her against the soft ground. In this dream state brought on by something organic in substance, he slides back and forth like a bobsled team or skier just before making their run. Now he is a machine. A piston rod thrusting back and forth like an engine. His body has left his control and seems to be slipping away like a car without the parking brake on. He is covering her mouth as his tongue is forcing its way down her throat. He is tasting her, eating her, devouring her like the puma on the throat of a deer. The man devouring this alabaster, almost gossamer spirit morphs into a panther sitting on a its catch. The panther watches as the puma strolls by. The panther emits this low barely audible growl as it looks straight into the puma's eyes. A sort of whine and purr comes out of her like a housecat who has trained their owner well. She's a female and she is aroused by the panther! He slowly arching his back as the warm semen mixes with her fluids, leaving a large wet spot inside her dress. He feels this enormous growl building in his chest as he takes a deep breath.. and loses consciousness for what seems like hours. He wakes up rested, refreshed and drained, but very satisfied. He isn't completely flaccid and wants to continue to make up for falling asleep on her. She smiles and kisses him for a few minutes as she mumbles into his ear : you'll be missed. He realizes where he is and what he is doing. If he was caught by the local swine in Alabama doing what he just did, he would get a one way ticket to a midnight lynching ! He is out of her and running into the barracks, he turns to thank her but no one is there. It's too dark to anything but go back inside. They barely notice as he stumbles to his bunk and passes out.
end of this part
In June 1939 the US government sponsors African American flight training by creating Civilian Pilot Training Act, to be administered by Civilian Aeronautics Association to train pilots for a national emergency. The Act authorized selected schools to offer primary flight training to civilians. January 1941, the 99th Pursuit Squadron is announced and created. Eleanor Roosevelt will tour Tuskegee Alabama and be taken up in a plane piloted by Chief C. Alfred Anderson and return safely. Obviously. The Chief left a diary, but more on that later. Pearl Harbor answers that nagging question in the back of every ones mind: Will we be invaded next ? Yep.
War has always produced orphans; usually from the invaders and the women left behind while the men are either away or dead. Then there are the chance encounters that could only have happened during a war, between strangers destined to never meet again. If offspring are produced, it is a discreet personal affair. Not usually public knowledge. There is the distinct impression that there were many chance encounters of mutual benefit to the participants here on the farm. But all the details are the privy to only a few. So in effect those details are undiscoverable.
"Gentlemen make sure your charges follow military discipline to the letter. The reputation of the squadron is at stake and shirking of duty will be dealt with severely. We're training in a fishbowl and the brass has a magnifying glass trained on your sorry hides. One man's disgrace is all of our downfall. The one question they're asking is 'can we be trained ? Can we learn to fly?' Most of them think we're too slow and shiftless to react in combat. They are giving us the leftover planes in case we get FUBAR out there. You may not be good enough to get a parade but at least they think you're good enough to die along with them. Tryouts are over, the training season has begun gentlemen!
He looks at all the flight leaders in the eye. "Yessir!" they shout in unison.
" EXCUSE ME ?" replies Col. Lewis.. A deafening "YESSIR!! " reverberates on the valley floor as they are dismissed.
This area was chosen because of the similarity in geography and climate to the mountainous parts of Italy, even down to the occasional snow packs. The areas further south are quite similar to North Africa, Tunisia specifically. A young man fortunate enough to see color illustrations of other lands in barber shops, or in markets, newsstands or movie reels of the day, might have a general understanding that there was another world across the ocean. In fact, anyone with more than cursory knowledge gleaned from features printed in magazines would be highly suspect.
A row of nondescript barracks erected in 4 days will house the squadron. Fenced off from the rest of the farm, there is a clear perimeter of mowed fields giving officers an unobstructed view of the pilots' coming and goings. Not as secure and isolated as we once were- the Nazis have a spy network throughout the East coast, some at the level of a factory supervisor ! So we learned of security breaches usually after the fact. If loose lips sink ships, the brass was watching you and listening. But no one would consider singing unusual for Black people. A rhythm fell into the patterns of speech among the pilots; the hits of the day were used with new stanzas added. From a distance, the same tunes repeating throughout the day. The words too indistinct to make out, and even slang might be used as code to sing about an adventure with a white woman for example.
Part 2 Survival training
Huffing and puffing behind the drill instructor the men are exhausted. "What's wrong with you men? We've only gone 3 miles ! 3 miles as the crow flies ! Har har har. North Africa ain't nothing like Alabama. No plantations, sassafras tea, mint juleps, weeping willows. No women in summer dresses. Do you read me ?? I can't hear you ! " They stumble up and down ravines until they are covered in earth and dust.
They respond in cadence to their drill instructor.
" Sir ! yessir! by your leave sir !" as they quick-time back to the barracks. The whoops and hollers resonate as the men attempt to crowd under the shower heads. The cool water was invigorating, not like some Alabama sauna. " Smells like something died in here! Izzat you Rawls ??" Between the reverie and towel snapping the men seem to be venting a bit of steam, in this case a good thing. Some weasel of a shavetail got the brilliant idea of playing football to keep the men busy and perhaps place a few bets or have a boxing match- and perhaps have a few bets. "We will suffer enough losses during training, we don't need banged up pilots. Request denied." Too bad, the ring, the shower facilities were nice, but small. A few men took to hosing off outside in the dark. But the water had to drain so the only other place was a concrete pad with a small grate. This was fine except on a full moon. The moonlight would illuminate a torso if it moved too much. Moonlight is a time for harvesting herbs as the teachings say. At first a seemingly older woman barely makes a move but the pilot has spotted movement from with his peripheral vision. "Remember, if you see two orange eyes looking at you- you may have a dinner date." No movement, nothing. He slowly turns around and starts scrubbing himself. Water isn't a problem on the farm, the fields will lay fallow to make room for emergency landing sites. The planes can be slow lumbering whales and require lots of room in an emergency. No danger of enemy bombing runs means no runway damage crews working round the clock. You can still get lost however, run out of fuel and have to ditch somewhere mountainous, especially during night training. All this danger with no women in sight for weeks to brag to and woo into the sack .
The town nearby is off limits. The Lady of the estate suggests the nearby bunkhouse used during the harvest season when extra workers are needed. This small room can serve as a ready room in the tradition of the Lafayette Escadrille. Complete with wine if needed. Singing while marching can only boost morale so much. But with wine, you have Esprit de Corps! The estate has fruit presses after the harvest has been cleaned and trimmed and the overripened fruit removed. A valuable skill out here in the boonies, winemaking is tradition and a source of income for these women. Along with this modest wine harvest are the cured meats that are also a tradition in her family.
The early revile and intense survival training all day have the men spent by sundown. The meals and mess hall are a modest affair. And most of the men have been to cafes, bars and juke joints with better décor. As they slowly mill around for an evening stroll they enjoy a cigarette, something in rare supply here. The townsfolk got wind of the impending war and decided to gouge and profit from the war. What little they had went to the highest bidders. Still cheaper than the black market. The Lady is also out for a stroll. She recognizes his face from his night shower and beams a smile as she stares deeply into his soul, and he mistakes this for curiosity. "I take it you don't get many black men out here in these parts", he blurts out as he tries to break the ice. "Oh we get all sorts of people coming through here looking for work. My husband never gave handouts, he always had the men work for their meals, even young boys. Honest day's work for honest pay." The conversation has an incredible deja vu' to it. As they talk more they realize that folk medicine is part of both their traditions. They begin to compare notes and this young man is as well versed as any pre-med student of the time. The doctor and his wife are known throughout the valley as skilled practitioners. As they discuss general botany, she swears she is almost back when she had first met her husband at the local college. They married and both families felt blessed by their union.
She asks him for a cigarette and he gladly offers her a fresh one from the pack. She takes the one from his lips and gently puffs his cigarette before returning it to him. 'Don't worry I have enough," he says. "Oh no no, that's for you men! Women smoking and talking on street corners, hip flasks-ankle bracelets, all that's against the law for now!" He takes a puff on the cigarette and tastes her lipstick as he sucks on the tip and can't help but say 'ummm'. She laughs and he hands her the rest of the cigarette. The next night they make it a point to meetup in the dark for a cigarette. Still sharing the same cigarette like teenagers, they laugh and giggle quietly. That's because in the dark he is gently kissing her neck then working his way down to her cleavage. He pauses, smells and and tastes her imported perfume. She placed 2 or 3 drops; on the right side of her neck, her cleavage and wrists. As he breathes in her scent she can smell his body as he quickly unbuttons his fly. In a matter of minutes her house dress has been undone completely and he is slowly kissing her as he moves on top of her. He slides his hand into what appear to be bloomers . She pulls the cotton drawstring so he can fit his entire hand in her bloomers. She almost yelps as his cold hand rubs her tummy. He quickly smothers the yelp with a kiss as she finishes pulling him on top of her. She pushes some thing out of the way as she reaches for him to grab his warm thick member. As she can't find the tip, he slowly backs up and inserts his way slowly into her. She waits for him to hit bottom, but he slowly retracts to avoid hurting her. A loud scream would bring the MPs armed with colt automatics. Please, for God sakes don't scream. He thinks he should slow down before he breaks this poor Grande Dame in half.
"No, no .." she moans. "Please, I need a man. Please go inside of me as far as you want. I'll gladly do anything for you. Anything you want." He covers her mouth with his and slowly starts pumping long strokes in and out as he lifts her legs in the air as he spreads her apart. For half an hour he slowly starts to increase the tempo. Sure could use some music. He glimpses up from her face as he rams himself deeper into her with increasing force. Those 2 orange eyes. blinking slowly off and on. The puma seems to understand there is a mating ritual taking place and stares at him as he exerts himself faster and faster. She screams and rolls on her side. As he loses his grip on her ankles, her legs flop down and he jumps on top of her, covering them with his trench coat. The commotion scares the puma away as they both lie motionless. Nothing else seems to be moving as he continually presses deeper into her till she finally whoops and sobs and starts convulsing like a seizure victim. All the time he is ramming himself into her he is inhaling the scent from her cleavage like a bouquet, no like honey. He is tasting metallic from the cigarette butt. He seems to getting faint as the blood is pooling into the hips as he thrusts with everything he can. Not about to give into the orgasm, he paces himself and finds that after almost an hour he is still rock hard and his erection is throbbing, pulsing into her but no orgasm for him. She is almost comatose as his knob pounds her against the soft ground. In this dream state brought on by something organic in substance, he slides back and forth like a bobsled team or skier just before making their run. Now he is a machine. A piston rod thrusting back and forth like an engine. His body has left his control and seems to be slipping away like a car without the parking brake on. He is covering her mouth as his tongue is forcing its way down her throat. He is tasting her, eating her, devouring her like the puma on the throat of a deer. The man devouring this alabaster, almost gossamer spirit morphs into a panther sitting on a its catch. The panther watches as the puma strolls by. The panther emits this low barely audible growl as it looks straight into the puma's eyes. A sort of whine and purr comes out of her like a housecat who has trained their owner well. She's a female and she is aroused by the panther! He slowly arching his back as the warm semen mixes with her fluids, leaving a large wet spot inside her dress. He feels this enormous growl building in his chest as he takes a deep breath.. and loses consciousness for what seems like hours. He wakes up rested, refreshed and drained, but very satisfied. He isn't completely flaccid and wants to continue to make up for falling asleep on her. She smiles and kisses him for a few minutes as she mumbles into his ear : you'll be missed. He realizes where he is and what he is doing. If he was caught by the local swine in Alabama doing what he just did, he would get a one way ticket to a midnight lynching ! He is out of her and running into the barracks, he turns to thank her but no one is there. It's too dark to anything but go back inside. They barely notice as he stumbles to his bunk and passes out.
end of this part
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