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Sasha turned away, feeling a terrible humiliation, but a surge of lust from somewhere below, from his groin, made him jerk his penis and look again at the half-opened door.
Mikhail Ivanovich, breathing deeply, taking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, began to push the body forward, trying to shove a dick in Sashkin’s slipping mouth.
She cautiously dodged, trying to get rid of only kisses and sucking head.
Then the editor in a businesslike manner took his dick with his right hand, and with his left grabbed Natka by the hair and ordered: “Come on, open your mouth, you slut!” These words resonated Sashkin’s ears and he almost finished.
But, holding his breath, overcame a rush of sperm.
His dick just splashed grease.
When the writer came to his senses and looked into the room again, Michal Ivanitch fucked his wife in the mouth, driving his fat cock deeply while holding her head with both hands.
Natasha screamed and

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quickly began to caress the fucker’s legs with her hands.
“I knew you would like it,” the editor said, pleased with himself, and looked toward the door ajar, where an aspiring writer stood in the shade on his knees, watching his wife being fucked in her mouth.
Ivanovich, catching Sashkin’s gaze, began to wind up and ordered Natasha to take two of his eggs in her mouth at once.
At the same time, he began to drive a cock in the face of Sasha’s wife with pleasure, shoved him in her eyes, in her nose, and slapped her forehead.
Deliberately loudly this sadist said: “Good bitch! Good sucking! Fuck you in the nose! That’s it, that’s it!” The writer was no longer restrained and began to groan with a groan, squeezing the throbbing member very tightly with all his body.
White streams flowed through the door.
Sasha, staggering, went into the kitchen, took a steaming bottle of vodka from the refrigerator and steamed desperately, making several big sips.

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“And they all went to: and they all went to:”, he said viciously, taking out a pickled cucumber from a three-liter canister.
Here Natashkins began to sound out from the room, groans, rhythmic and lustfully exciting.
The writer crunched cucumber, wiping sweat from his brow.
Teams Ivanovich and foul moaning of his wife pierced his room from his room.
“A leg higher !.
So, bitch !.
Now sideways !.
Sit yourself on the dick from above! ”The wife sighed, gasped, whined, moaned.
The writer sipped some more vodka, snapped a cucumber and switched all the malice to his wife: “Yes, she’s a whore, whores, and whores! And she likes it! that I get her to the uterus! Now I’ll go and fuck her too! ” It languidly groomed and tickled in the ass.
The writer, podrachivaya hand again pouring the blood of a member and breathing heavily carefully hobbled back.
Natasha was cancer on the couch.
Red stilettos, short skirt upside down, exposing naked back to the editor, who deeply drove pussy in Natashkin’s cock, leaning on her, roughly squeezing her delicate breasts with nipples sticking with excitement.
When the writer entered the room, Michal Ivanych straightened up, firmly squeezed the woman’s buttocks with his hands, so that there were red finger marks on them.
– Sasha, oh, good is your wife! – the editor-in-chief shared his feelings, pulled his fat cock out of Natashkina’s pussy, so that her sex lips turned out to follow his penis, and drove him back to the very eggs, noisily slamming his thighs over her ass.
The wife was moaning, obviously having fun.
Contradictory thoughts flooded the writer’s head: “But does this bitch like it: or does she play along?”
No, I really got lost: I wasn’t so whimpering with me, you bastard: And we all went to: “Ivanovich rhythmically fucked his excited wife.
Sasha was even surprised how she podmivaet.
The editor just stopped and clapped her hand on the buttocks, and Natasha herself moved with her whole body, sitting down on this fat dick, whimpering and groaning.
Saliva flowed from her mouth.
The writer felt a terrible weakness in his legs and sank to the floor.
He did not even notice that he himself was already naked below the belt, with a standing member and a bare head.
“Okay, Sashka,” the voice of the editor-in-chief flew to the writer’s mind, “stop masturbating, go kiss my ass.”
Well, what are you lost there, go ass licking me! The unsuccessful writer, in obedience to a force unknown to this day, crawled to Michal Ivanovich’s ass moving back and forth and pressed his lips to his buttocks.
– Here so, harasha! Harasha Natasha, and Sasha! Lizashka pisashka! Lick your ass, you son of a bitch, the excited editor shouted to the writer, drowning out his wife’s orgasmic moans. Busty emo webcam.

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