Catherine Bell and Zoe Mclellan Get Dogged
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Chapter Eight
We were up early the following morning. It was one of those rare bright winter days where there is no wind and the world looks made anew under its carpet of shimmering frost. The sky was an achingly blue vault with the only clouds a couple of puffs left over from God’s cigar. It isn’t possible not to feel glad to be alive on such a morning, whether you’re Man or dog.
Liam and Niall strolled off in opposite directions through the dunes to spy out the land while Angela, Trotsky, Magic and I headed down on to the beach for an early morning walk. Magic ran in circles in his own loopy, uncoordinated way while Trotsky paced beside us, ears erect, his great bush of a tail held high and curling over his regimentally straight back. Periodically he would spot a particularly brazen seagull that refused to concede his passage and he’d charge off in full hunting mode until the offending bird took to the air, leaving him with a lolling tongue and slightly sheepish air.
Angela held my hand and we talked lightly as we strolled. Once I saw Liam standing watching us at the edge of the dunes and he raised a hand, as if in benediction. Angela waved back gaily and he disappeared from view, a cell-phone clamped to his right ear, the picture of a professional. I found a piece of driftwood and hurled it into the sea for Magic. He plunged in, unbounded joy showing in every fibre. His two favourite occupations – swimming and retrieving, he must have thought Christmas had come early.
We walked for an hour or so. Ours were the only prints defiling the pristine sand. The sea was that particular hue of green, which characterises that stretch of coastline. It was only marred by the silty brown stain that marked the river’s effluence. The North Sea is too shallow ever to be truly blue, whatever the weather. This is the Wash, where legend has it King John lost the Crown Jewels. The land and sea lie constantly at war. One can imagine hearing the faint tolling of bells in drowned steeples when the wind rises. All around, the flat country recedes from the eye, interrupted only by occasional evidence of human habitation and the odd stump of a church tower. The coastline sweeps away to east and west, vanishing into a blurred and low horizon. It is a bleak place, bleak and beautiful.
The seductive smell of frying bacon greeted us on our return. Niall was busy in the kitchen and Liam was stacking fresh-hewn logs in the outhouse. His shirtless torso glowed with health. The muscular perfection of his body was only spoiled by two livid purple marks of puckered flesh just below his ribs. I knew these to be the legacy of a fierce night engagement on Tumbledown Mountain in the Falklands War. Neither brother would ever talk much about their experiences but I had seen the citation for Liam’s Military Cross. He had been hit twice early in the fighting but had continued to lead his platoon throughout the night. He was hit once more later on and was eventually persuaded to go to the First Aid post. He walked out, four miles over rough country in the darkness. It was later discovered that the last bullet had broken his ankle. Recalling this, I was once more grateful those two lunatics were on our side.
Over breakfast we made our respective plans for the day. Angela and I had to go to the police station in Cromer to settle the matter of her disappearance. We decided to stick to the truth but leave out the inconvenient bits. Angela had found her place trashed, got scared and come to London. There was nothing taken so it could just be a case of vandalism. Then I had to speak to Ted Allen at the Capital Taxes Office to find out who might know a bit more about this ikon. Liam and Niall offered to come with us to Cromer but it was clear that they were merely being polite. They agreed, instead, to do a bit of ‘snooping’ locally, just in case the opposition were about. Half an hour later I loaded Magic and Trotsky into the Volvo and we set off, surrounded by the pungent aroma of wet dog.
The Cromer police were icily polite and made no secret of their annoyance. Like most policemen, they trod warily around a lawyer, punctiliously correct but no more. We breathed a sigh of relief when they eventually let us go after Angela had given a statement. I doubted very much we’d hear from them further. We drove back to the cottage slowly. Angela pointed out various places of interest. This was her manor, I was the visitor. I felt a certain reluctance to get back into the world of Russian ikons and Chechen Mafia. The morning walk, the weather and, not least, our growing intimacy, had lulled me into a false sense of well-being. Now it was time to plunge back into the murk once more.
Ted Allen was all cheery bonhomie. “Christ, Martin,” he said, “Never saw you as the devotional type. George Allardyce is your man. You might not remember George, bit before your time. George took the hump when the Department moved out of Somerset House. He started up a little gallery in Chester. I think he still does valuations for some of the esoteric stuff. He’s quite brilliant but a prickly old sod. If George doesn’t know it then it doesn’t exist.” We chatted for a couple of minutes more about mutual acquaintances and I thanked Ted and hung up. I got the number for the Allardyce Gallery in Chester from Directory Enquiries and placed the call.
A voice as dry as old parchment with more than a hint of irritation answered. I explained who I was and what I was seeking. The timbre of the voice changed utterly and enthusiasm poured down the wires.
“12th Century Triptych on Boxwood, eh? The most famous one, and there are only four we know of, was given by Rasputin to the Czarina. That one is in the Hermitage in St Petersburg, another is owned by the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church in Moscow. That leaves two in private hands. One of these I’m certain isn’t available. That Greek oil chap, Nikolaides, owns it. He doesn’t part with anything. That leaves the fourth and that has a very interesting little history.
“Now this one was brought out of Russia by a Wehrmacht officer during the latter stages of World War Two. Unusually, for those times, it wasn’t looting. Seems that this German chappie had saved a monastery from the attentions of the SS. Apparently he was the religious type and he lined up his tanks and threatened to blow all the Blackshirts to Kingdom Come. They wanted to fire the place as a nest of partisans. Our hero wasn’t having any. The Abbot or whatever presented him with this ikon as a sign of gratitude. They shot him eventually, of course, but the ikon was passed on to his sister.”
“What happened then?”
“Old Fat Hermann grabbed it for his collection at Karenhall. There was the dickens of a fight after the war with the Reds wanting it back. However, Fraulein Sussmann or somesuch had the provenance. She got it back, has it still, to my knowledge. Hmmm. Advertised as the ‘property of a lady’, you say? My money’s on this one.”
“Any ideas how we might contact this Fraulein Sussmann?”
“Frau Meyer, she is now.”
“What did you say?”
“She got married, boy. Her name is now Meyer. Mrs Helga Meyer. Rich as Croesus and a patron of the Arts. Mad as a bat, of course, but then women of that age often are. Hope that answers your questions, I’ve got things to do. Goodbye.”
And with that, he hung up. I sat there in stunned silence for a full minute. Angela was gazing at me, her eyes brim full of concern. “What did he say?” Her voice had a nervous edge. I repeated what Allardyce had told me. It was Angela’s turn to be stunned. “Frau Meyer?” She kept repeating the question softly to herself. Liam and Niall came in and we told them the full story. “It doesn’t make sense,” said Niall. I shook my head. Something was stirring uneasily at the back of my mind. I wasn’t there yet but I had the first glimmerings.
We kicked it back and fort
h, worrying at it like Magic gnaws a stick. That elusive little tickle at the back of my mind came and went. After a while, Angela said, “Let us summarise.” Niall pulled out a note pad and wrote as Angela spoke.
“Frau Meyer is my patron. She has bought some of my work. I think she has supported others but she doesn’t speak of it. Her brother gave her the ikon before he died. The Soviet Government contested her ownership after the War but she won. We think she is now selling the ikon through Hervey’s in London.”
We all affirmed that this was accurate thus far.
“This is where I don’t understand,” she went on. “Some people, who we think are Chechens, break into my house looking for something. Then Martin has a visit from this Mr Cornell. He tells Martin lies about my father. Later, he changes his story and says they are looking for a stolen ikon. Martin says Hervey’s won’t sell an ikon if the seller can’t prove where it came from. This, I believe. But if it is Frau Meyer’s ikon, then what has my father got to do with any of this? He doesn’t know Frau Meyer. She became my patron after I left Estonia. It makes no sense at all.”
From the glum looks all around, I could tell we were all equally flummoxed. Niall threw his notepad onto the low table between us. “These are the notes I made,” he said. He had drawn a diagram with the word ‘ikon’ in the centre. A line ran to Frau Meyer and, through her, to Angela. Another line ran from the ikon to the name ‘Cornell’ then onwards to ‘British Government’ and then, in dotted form, to ‘Russian Government.’ Another dotted line linked the legend ‘Chechens?’ with both ‘Cornell’ and ‘Russian Government’.
We studied Niall’s chart like soothsayers reading the entrails of a sheep. “The truth is, me darlin’,” said Liam, “your father doesn’t fit into the pattern at all. Either the ikon is the bloody red herring or your father is. I just don’t get it.” Again, I felt that faint nudge from my subconscious. We talked on in circles for a while. Angela was becoming heated. She marched to the sideboard and pulled a batch of letters out of the drawer. She shuffled through them, extracting one. She pulled the phone towards her and dialled a long number. A conversation in German ensued. The only words I understood were ‘Frau Meyer’ and ‘ikon’. After a while she hung up and turned towards us, a gleam of triumph in her eyes.
“It is Frau Meyer’s ikon,” she said. “It seems she has recently decided to get rid of all her religious pieces. She has a quarrel with God, it seems.” A smile played briefly around her face. “She has found me a quantity of bronze and she is shipping it over. It should have been here last month but there was a problem with the shipping firm. Finally, she wishes to commission three new pieces from me, they are to be of my own choosing.” We all congratulated Angela on her new commission. I knew, even if the twins didn’t, how hugely important such things were to relatively unknown artists.
“Well,” I said, ”we now know the ikon is for real. I don’t see how that helps us, though. One thing we can do, however, is tell Cornell. It might get them off our backs once and for all.” The others agreed and I rose and crossed to the phone to call Cornell. My call was answered on the second ring. “Chief Inspector Howard,” a disembodied voice announced, “Who’s speaking?” “My name is Martin Booth,” I replied, ”I’d like to speak to Mr Michael Cornell.” There was a snort from the other end of the line. “Then you’re going to need a bloody ouija board, Mr Booth. I hope he wasn’t a close friend of yours because Mr Michael Cornell is dead.”
I was shocked to silence. The policeman carried on speaking as if he’d said ‘it’s raining in London today.’ I stammered through an explanation, winging it but basing it loosely on the truth. Cornell had come to see me asking about ikons. I’d promised to enquire among my contacts. I assumed it was a Government matter. He sounded narrowly suspicious as he questioned me further. I didn’t mention Angela, Chechens or anything else. He thawed a little when I said I’d been in Norfolk with friends since the previous evening. I agreed to call him when I returned to London. He barked his number at me and rang off. The others sat in silence as I relayed the conversation. I reckon we were all thinking furiously but no one had a single thing to say.
At length we drifted away from the parlour. Angela gave me a tight squeeze but shook her head when I started to say something. She gazed into my eyes with a look that was almost fierce with the love that was in her. “Not now, my Martin,” was all she said. I knew she was right. We needed time to think. We both noticed the grim look that passed between the twins. Something unspoken was agreed upon and I thought I knew what it was.
We spent the afternoon separately. I returned to the beach with Magic and Trotsky, to walk and think and try to clear my head. Angela went to her studio and, assisted by Niall, began to repair the damage in preparation for the new commission. Liam patrolled the dunes, keeping an eye on me and the approaches to the cottage. I noticed, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, that his jacket bulged beneath his shoulder once again. I had been right with my interpretation of that grim look.
Chapter Nine
I walked back to the cottage through the fading light. A man and a boy were making their way down to the beach. They were festooned with the arcane gear of beach fishermen. Long rods, tackle boxes, paraffin lamps and the like seemed to hang everywhere and they were making heavy weather of it, trudging through the soft sand. The boy was animated, obviously excited. His father, for such I supposed the man to be, was patiently plodding in the child’s wake. I looked up and tried to spot my guardian but Liam couldn’t be seen. All the same, I knew he was there. It was both reassuring and terrifying at the same time.
I had been trying to work out who had killed Mickey the Mouth. I didn’t like the man much but wouldn’t have wished him dead. The obvious suspects were the Chechens, if that was what they were. Cornell’s ikon story seemed to have been fabricated for our consumption. He knew of the link between Frau Meyer and Angela and learned of the sale. He probably guessed that I would keep digging, discover the link and then back off to protect Angela. It was subtle and would have been effective apart from that false start involving Angela’s father. I couldn’t believe the currency story. It just didn’t fit. There was only one conclusion I kept returning to. Angela’s father was alive and someone wanted to find him rather badly.
I decided to keep my speculations to myself. It was just a gut feeling. I hadn’t a scrap of evidence but whenever my thoughts turned down that track, the little warm prickling sensation at the back of my mind grew stronger. The evening was as calm and still as the day had been. The clear skies promised another hard frost and the temperature was dropping by the minute as the sun dipped to sleep behind the land. I stopped for a moment just to take it in. I breathed in the promise of the night. My mind quietened. The spinning thoughts slowed and died, one by one. I looked for a moment of tranquillity. Resentment crept over me instead, catching me unawares. I suddenly found myself thinking, ‘why me?’ This was soon followed by the old childhood saw ‘it’s not fair!’ No sooner had the phrase formed in my mind, the spell was broken. I could laugh at myself again, mocking the self-pity. After all, I now had Angela.
She was coming out of the studio as the dogs and I came in. Magic launched his soggy length towards her and she knelt to fuss him. Trotsky looked in an interested fashion, too aloof to prostitute himself for an ear-scratching. She smiled up at me. “ Hello, my Martin,” she said and my hear
t gave a funny lurch. She was dressed in some sort of loose-fitting overalls and her hair was scraped back and held at her nape with a band. Some loose tendrils of hair had escaped and she blew them from her face with puffed cheeks. Magic’s tail was thumping manically against the wall. The tail of a flat-coated retriever is lethal to anything at retriever-rump level other than reinforced concrete. Angela sighed and rose. She sniffed at her armpit unselfconsciously. “Phew, I smell like an old bear,” she said and grinned. “Time for a shower.”
We took that shower together. I washed her hair and then minutely washed every inch of her, first with the soap and then with kisses. I wanted to make her come then and there but she eased away from me gently. “Later,” she said. She giggled at my erection and then proceeded to ‘wash’ it enthusiastically. I groaned as my semen spilled out over her hand and spattered her thigh. Her eyes were soft with emotion, as if I’d given her an expensive gift. She languidly washed the pearly drops away then leaned her head on my chest. I held her close for a brief space as the water ran down over us. It was a perfect moment of peace in a strange and disturbing day.
Over a plain dinner we discussed Angela’s forthcoming commission for Frau Meyer. By tacit agreement, we did not discuss the death of Mickey the Mouth or any other of the day’s events. It was still all there, though, a spectre at the feast. I think we were all too worn down by the experience of living inside an enigma to face it yet again. Angela decided that she would honour her intention stated when we first met. She would ‘do’ Trotsky. A completely naturalistic piece, she promised. No tortured soul clawing its way through the twisted bronze. She threatened to do the twins but they refused with a laugh. “Sorry, darlin’, we don’t get our kit off for anyone but our wives,“ Niall had replied. Angela had been surprised, she didn’t know they were both married.
“That leaves Martin,” said Liam. “You could just twist some of those bronze rods into a big knot of spaghetti and say it was a portrait of a lawyer’s mind.” This sparked off a series of ‘Lawyer Jokes’ at my expense. I responded with Irish Jokes, which Angela insisted had originally been Russian Jokes. We then got to plumb the depths with old Essex Girl Jokes. Angela needed some translations as the significance of Ford XR3i’s was lost on her. No joke is funny when you have to dissect it so the evening petered out with Angela still plaintively pleading with me to explain why the answer to “How does an Essex girl turn off the light before sex?” was “She shuts the car door.”
Niall and Liam had rigged up camp beds for themselves in the Studio. They complained that sleeping in the parlour was ‘too noisy’ and winked suggestively. Angela coloured up a nice bright shade of red as she caught their meaning. The head of the brass bedstead must have been hammering on the parlour wall, the two rooms being adjoining. “Apart from that,” said Niall, “your dogs fart abominably. At least, Liam claims it was them…” We could hear their good-natured banter receding as we readied ourselves for bed once more. I knew they would take it in turns to keep watch through the night, after the events of the day.
Angela once more tumbled me into our private world of soft embraces and thrilling touches. We made love twice before sleeping. The first time a gentle, loving, lingering journey to ecstasy, the second a raunchy, passionate gallop doggy-style, with Angela gasping harshly in Estonian as orgasm wracked her for the third or fourth time that evening. I haven’t been with that many women, but Angela’s capacity for orgasms was a brand new experience for me. She seemed to hit a plateau and then, out of the blue, she was scaling the peaks, hardly dropping down between one pinnacle and another. Sometimes, she seemed to be coming almost continuously with no break discernible between one climax and the next. I loved it. There can’t be any better tonic for a man’s ego than to have his woman trembling in a constant state of orgasm.
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Vintage Porn SitesI should have known better. I should have remembered that old saying, "If it looks too good to be true, it is." I was in love. She was damned near all I thought about with the exception of my studies and it didn't make sense to me. I prided myself on my intellect and my ability to think logically, but there wasn't anything logical about the way I felt about Althea. She was beautiful, smart and very popular and I was not. I wasn't a bed looking guy, but I was nothing exceptional. I was...
Motherless. A one-word website title that says everything it needs to say. This is a site where the rules are, more or less, completely thrown out the window, morality means absolutely nothing, and there is nobody to save you from it. Hedonism is God here.The site likely is also called this due to the fact that the girls who end up on motherless.com likely have no positive female influence in their lives to keep them from it. Motherless is the place parents spend their whole lives fearing that...
Porn Pictures SitesI always considered Motherless the “4chan” of porn. Not only because Motherless was somewhat popularized there, but because Motherless also encourages users to share their own content in a very open way. This means minimal bullshit like moderation and censorship, and a strong “anything goes” attitude that leads to free and extreme content. It encourages people to create and upload their own homegrown content, like videos of their girlfriend pissing or spycam videos of their cousin....
Amateur Porn SitesWhat is it about Motherless that makes me fucking cum every time? Maybe it is how raw and amateur the porn on the site comes across as, or the content is just that fucking hot. Perhaps it is the fact that there is an astronomical amount of pornography just waiting for a dumb fuck like you to beat off to! I really don’t know, and frankly, I’m not going to pretend that I do.But what I do know is that if you love BBWs, the Motherless.com homepage will not be of much use! Preferably, head on over...
BBW Porn SitesHave you ever heard about a website called Motherless? Home to all kinds of kinky porn niches, with a side of the mainstream crap? If you are into some questionable fap content, you might want to check this website out. Plus, Motherless is a free porn website, so you can browse as much as you fucking want. Now, I am not really here to talk about the website in general… I am here to tell you about their amazing category, called voyeur porn.The world of voyeur fucking is a rather interesting one....
Voyeur Porn SitesClothesline[This story is part of the Leather in Lawnville series.] Clothesline By DuskPetersonYou can tell a lot about a guy from where he shops. Take my friends, who have specialized tastes. Some of them spend their time at the hardware store, while others take an interest in our town's fabric shop, which has needles and pins that make them drool. Still others hang out at the department store, eyeing the cutlery collection. Somehow all of us end up rubbing shoulders at the town's jacket...
The Five Kingdoms of Arstoria had been embroiled in the Great Ancient War for centuries. The war came to an end when Kalace, the Wizard King conquered the five lands and brought them under his rule. Kalace, the Wizard King of Arstoria, conquered all of his opponents who were unable to deal with his overpowering magic. When Kalace had united the five kingdoms, he brought peace to the warring kingdoms and was revered and celebrated by his later generation. Kalace, however, had a dark weakness in...
FantasyWoah, did Motherless.com get a facelift? I know I suggested it in my review, so I guess they listened to me! Well, I’m not going to brag too much about it, and instead, I’m going to focus on what I’ve set out to bring you today. We’re looking at an amateur website, and I just know that many of you are begging for amateur creampie content, so that’s what we’re looking at. I know how much you think Motherless can look sickening and pretty gruesome at times, but the creampie content can be quite...
Creampie Porn SitesNo matter what type of porn you may be in the market for, Motherless has an ample supply of it, and cucking is no different. Actually, this might help to explain how you ended up being such a pussy little cuck.The journey that brought you to my website reading cuck porn reviews started in your childhood. A fair portion of my readership is actually motherless. Why, you ask? Your guys' moms chose a life of cucking and riding cock instead of raising you fucks properly.Don't worry, gents. I'm in...
Cuckold Porn SitesI browsed the horror stash at Motherless all morning, and now I don’t know if I should jack off or go hide in the closet until the danger has passed. Then again, hiding out might give me the perfect opportunity to rub one out in the peace and safety of the dark. Who knows who—or what—might be peeping in the windows with nefarious intent if I sit at my desk and shake my dick at the screen. Just like when I masturbate at the local Starbucks, I’ve got to be sure to balance the potential pleasure...
Extreme Porn WebsitesJeff had let the years drift by, as a younger guy he pulled the women and had settled down with his long time girlfriend and their daughter for a quiet life. Anna came home to say that the bank had offered her a position back home in New York and that she was taking Amie and leaving hime. It was shock and the doctor diagnosed depression and gave him a full health check. Cholesteral and weight to high, blood sugar to high. "LOSE SOME WEIGHT Mr ADAMS" she barked at him. Jeff hated the gym and the...
EroticIncest porn has been a staple of pornography since the very first incel caveman realized that he couldn’t find fresh pussy out and about. He resorted to sniffing a whiff of his mother’s loincloth when she wasn’t looking, and beating his old cave meat into a leather sock.Now personally I’m not into the whole mommy-son dynamic – I’m a classy guy. But it’s no secret people like to get freaky when the lights go out, and if you’ve got a stiffy in your hand and you’re on Motherless, you gotta go...
Incest Porn SitesHi friends, indru tamil kama kathaiyil en sontha thangaiyai epadi oothen endra kudumba tamil kama kathaiyai ungal idam pagirugiren. Vaarungal tamil kama kathaikul selalam, en peyar prathap vayathu 28 aagugirathu. Enaku oru thangi irukiraal aval peyar mala vayathu 26 aagugirathu, avaluku innum thirumanam seiya vilai Avaluku thirumanam seithu vaikum alavirku engal idam ipozhuthu panam ilai, loan apply seithu atharkaaga kathukondu irukirom. Naan oru kama veriyan eppozhuthu pen kidaikum avargalai...
I am a woman of 46 years old, way past my prime as far as a woman goes on the scale of fertility, and it is this very infertility that had allowed me to be more open about sex and my sexual needs, becoming pregnant is no longer an option, but fucking strangers has and as far back as when I was a girl, that one fetish has burned as strong within me then, as it does now, the only difference is I go looking for sex in the form of 'Dogging', a craze some twenty years in the making, a craze that...
My name is Rebecca. Everyone calls me Becca. I entered the police department right out of college. I progressed rapidly, through different divisions and assignments. I always had my eyes set on Robbery-Homicide and after six years of hard word and dedication, I finally made it. At age thirty, I was youngest female in the division for such a coveted assignment, but I was superb at my job. I made it because of my skill not my gender. It was Saturday. Dispatch called our number just after we had...
TabooThanks to my usual cast and crew of Editors and Advance Readers, most of whom prefer to pretend that they don’t know me and wisely wish to take no responsibility for any part of my addled writings... Il n’est rien de réel que le rêve et l’amour - Nothing is real but dreams and love (from Le Coeur innombrable, IV, Chanson du temps opportun by Anna de Noailles) She was my one true mistress and ever faithful lover, my Green Lady and guardian of my dreams and now that I was back home...
Sixty-three-year-old Emily Wagstaff walked her elderly neighbour Janet's dog and got into the habit of walking the same route at approximately the same time each day. As other people tended to do the same thing, she often saw the same people each day.One such person was fifty-nine-year-old Trevor Hinton and over a short space of time, the two progressed from nodding or smiling at each other to saying, "Good morning," to actually stopping for a brief chat. The two of them took a liking to each...
MatureRecently there have been a few TV shows that have mentioned Dogging. My wife is quite a prude and even though she knew it had something to do with sex she asked me if I knew anymore about it. I explained that it was where people met in public and either performed with an audience or allowed strangers to join in, often at car parks or in open spaces. She found the whole idea disgusting and wasn’t amused when I said that if she really wanted to know what happened at dogging sites I should drive...
Hi friends, indru kathaiyil en nanbanai kathal seithu emathiriya pennai ootha kathaiyai ungal idam pagirugiren. En tamil kathaiyai inaiya thalathil pathivu seithatharku nandri, en peyar pradeep vayathu 21 aagugirathu. En nanbanai oru pen kathal seithu matter mudinthathum kayati vitu vitaal, athanaal naan avalai usar seithu hardcore seiyanum endru mudithu seithen. En nanban enaku nanban endru kanbithukolamal aval idam muthal muthalil pesi pazhaga aarambithen. Aval pathini pola en idam nadika...
Hi friends, indru tamil kama kathaiyil en kanavanuku theriyamal ilamaiyaana kaal kathalanai eppadi love seithen endra kathaiyai ungal idam pagirugiren. Vaarungal tamil kama kathaikul selalam, enathu peyar jaya vayathu 36 agugirathu. Enaku thirumanam aagi oru paiyan irukiraan pinbu en kanavanuku vayathu 42 agugirathu. Naan santhoshamaaga thaan vaazhnthu vanthukondu irunthen, naan oru teacheraaga velai paarthu varugiren. Naan velai seiyum classku arugil oru veedu irukirathu, antha veetil oru...
My name is Anthony and I am twenty-two years old. I have extra-long dark hair and darker eyes. I tie my hair into a ponytail and have a close trimmed beard. I look handsome and enjoy keeping myself in shape. I am a lucky guy as I have a very sexy girlfriend who is two years older than me. Zoe and I met at a mutual friend’s party and hit it off right away. She has short blonde hair and blue eyes. Her small beautiful mouth sits beneath a cute button nose. All in all, Zoe is a goddess and I love...
CrossdressingHi friends, indru sex kathaiyil auntyai usar seithu eppadi matter adithen enbathai ungalidam pagirugiren. En peyar Seenu. Vayathu 21 aagugirathu. Naan ithu naal varai entha penaiyum sex seithathu kidaiyaathu. Naan engineering padithu varugiren, enathu nanbargal oru naal theaterku ennai azhaithaargal. Naangal neraga bar seithu saraku adithom, appozhuthu bagubali padam oodi kondu irunthathu. Naangal oru gramathil irukum theaterku sendru irunthom. Angu pothuvaga pengal athigam vara matargal,...
It had been a long time fantasy for my wife, Anna and I. I love watching her getting fucked, and she loves having some stranger use her for his personal gratification, especially outdoors. So dogging was something we were bound to experience.For months we had read dogging stories and watched several internet movies of dirty wives and girlfriends turning up at local car parks to get fucked and covered in hot cum. We knew of several alleged dogging sites within a five mile radius of own home, but...
When the car with Jake in it became a dot on the horizon, Thea turned to go back in the house. Suddenly Floyd appeared. “Mrs. Thea, how you be?” Smiling, she knew immediately what he wanted. He had that look and a glance at his crotch confirmed it. The imprint of his cock was prominent as it pushed against the material. “Looks like everyone is gone.” Floyd said. His eyes looking out over the farm. “Yes, I am by myself for at least the next few days.” She replied in an...
“Well, hell,” Thea said as she wiped the beads of perspiration from her face. “I guess ‘spring’ is here, huh?” “Yeah. It’s supposed to be cooler at higher elevation,” I replied. We took a few minutes in the shade by the rocks before rejoining our boyfriends. The four of us had driven up into the pass to hike. According to the weather report, the last coolness of a fading winter was supposed to continue through mid-week, but they were wrong. Actually, from our view from Eagle Point, where we’d...
Motherless.com! What an original name for a porn site, don't you think? The title doesn't fuck around: your mother would never allow you to watch the kind of filth they’ve got on tap. They pride themselves on being a moral-free zone for sick fucks, where you can find damn near anything. I’m talking about desperate chicks fucking anything that resembles a dick and crazy bitches literally eating shit. When you’re done fapping to the weird vids, you can even find "normal" porno to pass the time....
Free Porn Tube SitesAh, motherless, here we are again. A site known for offering such a variety, that no matter how fucked up your needs are, there is a high chance that you will fulfill them here. However, I am not here to blab about the site in general; I am here to talk about one particular category, interracial. As for those who want to know more about the site, there is a whole different review on my website instead.As for those who came here to learn more about that interracial lovemaking, I got your back....
Interracial Porn SitesTherese looked at the scene before her. Her father and brother naked, her grandfather’s cock sticking out of his trousers and her grandmother eating her mother’s cunt, both of us naked. Beth with the camera, filming. “God, the slut is only in the door and she’s gone sex mad.” she said referring to me. She went and sat on the arm of her father’s chair putting her arm around him and kissing him on the cheek. My father was now hard again. He pushed my mother out of the way and started to fuck me...
Three months later, the sound of laughter made Thea Barton look up. The now twenty year -old blond-headed beauty was in the living room reading when she heard it. Recognizing the voice of Uncle Dan, she smiled as she waited to see whom he was going to be with. When the laughter grew louder, she smiled. Ah, yes! It was Irene, her now very good friend! Uncle Dan seemed to prefer her to the others. Her being married seemed to make no difference to all concerned parties. Thea smiled to herself,...
This week’s show begins with that same old rusty bedstead, and that same old dirty mattress. Pausing to take in the magnificent filthiness of it, then pulling back to reveal the bare concrete floor around it, and to take in the harsh lighting. And then we hear our guest of the week approaching, quick little footsteps ... Light clicks on the studio floor. We pan round to see what we’ve got this week and see a slight, pale, small-boobed lady walking in quick, short strides ... She’s not is a...
Hi, guys. It’s been a long time on ISS. I was away from the city. I hope you did like my other two stories(true incidents) which I had written. This is the next encounter I had with my aunt who was all alone and needed a little love for her. Her name is Bethesda and lived her whole life alone after her husband married another woman. I do have a lust for her and want her so badly. She is 45 years old and looks bomb. She got a good voluptuous body and looks like a brunette. As for me, I’m six...
IncestMy name is Anthony; I am twenty-two years old and live with my beautiful girlfriend Zoe. As you have read I have dark hair and dark eyes and I am clean shaven. Zoe is older than I am by a couple of years and is the driving force of our relationship. I am what many call a cross-dresser: a guy that gets great sexual satisfaction from dressing in women’s clothing.Of course, my girlfriend knows all about my cross-dressing. In fact, she encourages me to cross-dress. Once a week, generally on a...
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