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“What now?” I called.She stopped and turned “Now,” she said, “You get to fly my Dad as passenger.”Chapter 7 – BaselegHoly shit.Five minutes later grouchy Moore, Chief Instructor was walking slowly towards me with a clipboard. As he neared he extended his hand. I shook it and for the first time I saw a smile on his face.“My daughter tells me you’re an exceptional pilot.” He said, “Now is your chance to show me how good you really are.”“Thank you sir.” I replied, “I’ll give it my best shot.”We climbed into the cockpit and I carried out pre-flight checks. CBSITCB.I summoned the ground crew and we were taken to the launch point.The next seven minutes were a time of total concentration for me and even now I can’t recall every detail. I do however recall a perfect landing and total silence from the rear seat.The ground crew moved us off the airfield and parked us up alongside the other gliders. Grouchy got out of the rear seat and as I joined him by the port wing tip he simply said,. . with your cum! Fill my ... my whore-cunt with every drop of your spunk! I need it! I’m your slut! Just spurt in me.”“Okaasan...” I whimpered, smiling at the rapture crossing her face.Clint drew back his hips, and slammed into her hard. He filled her over and over, pumping away even harder while she screamed out in rapture, begging him over and over to cum in her. To spurt his seed into her pussy.Would he breed her like he wanted to breed my twin and me?His back arched. He growled. His face twisted in rapture. I knew his seed pumped into Mother’s pussy. He filled her whore-cunt with his spunk just like he did mine. I felt more of his jizz leak out of me. It stained my thighs. It was such a deliciously naughty delight.He leaned over Mother, panting. She mewled, the pair coming down from their orgasmic high. I licked my lips, my heart thudding in my chest. I rubbed my cum-slicked and pussy-stained thighs together as my pussy grew so hot.Then Clint pulled out of her and climbed off the.
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There was a framed map of Brittany fixed to the wall in the hotel entrance; we gathered round it and discussed where to go next.“Here we are, almost at Dinan. We want to avoid St. Malo, I think, but the big decision is whether we go all out and try to reach the west coast, or go easier and stay on the north?”“How far to the west coast?”There was a pause as Adrian looked carefully at the map.“From the scale of this map, I’d say a hundred and fifty kilometres, that’s about a hundred miles. Not quite as far as we’ve come already, but then of course we’d have to come back, and at the same speed we’ve been doing, we’d probably have a day there on the coast, maybe two, and have to turn round.”“Blast! They say the west coast is beautiful.”There was another pause for thought.“Do the French allow bikes on trains?”“That’s not a bad idea!”The upshot was that we cycled into Dinan, found the railway station, asked the question, and an hour later found ourselves on a train to Brest. It took nearly.

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