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And he took it.
Bobbing forward, all the way to the burning expiring womb, began to move all accelerated.
– Rrraaahhhh, mmmmnnnaaa, nnnn! – he published something inarticulate, hitting her with his “pouches”, squeezing the reddened halves of the “peach”.
– Aaaaa, ahhhnnnnn, nnnmmmm! – Anna sang to him, adjusting to his rhythm.
The boiling lava filled her bosom, splashing out, mixing with her “juice”, spreading her thighs rosy from his hands.
Shouting, Anna arched, snuggling closer to his loins.
Serge squeezed her in his arms with such force as if he wanted to squeeze charming roundness into himself.
In the last rush, he too, as far as possible, invaded her quivering bosom and, merging with him, froze.
When Anna came to herself, she whispered: – Honey, I think we both shouted.
He laughed.
“I don’t know about myself,” answered, kissing his wife’s sweaty face, “and you really screamed very much.”
– I like that.
ashamed – her cheeks flamed.
– Why ?! – he kissed the tip of the nose.
– I adore when you shout loudly.
And here nobody will hear us.
Now you can not hide.
This is our bedroom.
And, you know, I intend every night and even during the day to enjoy your screams.
Anna did not answer – she was asleep, pressing her velvet “peach” to her stomach and holding his hand between her legs.
“My little countess,” Duvall whispered, burying his face in disheveled braids.

Probably, I am one of those who (like Shakespeare) play prudes from themselves.
Itself never considered itself such, but the “environment” somehow judges it. Free mature nude cams.

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