Meeting Marcels Mistress
She’s afraid for the wet, salty stain her pussy lips will likely leave on the sofa. Crysta shifts in her seat and wishes fleetingly that her skirt wasn’t so short, that she wasn’t so aroused and most of all, that her brazenness hadn’t prompted her to abandon her knickers at her rented apartment. Marcel chuckles into her mouth, feeling her shift, wondering at her sudden anxiousness. Crysta can hear his mirth through her lusty haze and it grounds her, pulling her back to the present. Marcel’s...