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So here I am. I start to think about the fact that I’m half-naked in a bed with two sexy women who are wearing sexy night dresses. My cock starts to erect and it’s a 7 inch stick. I started playing with it and Camille noticed and told me to stop. Ha but then she rolled over and started doing it for me. We were playing and Camille started to get a little edgy. She started moaning and all we were doing was making out and she had her hand on my dick. She said it felt so good, and I reached down to find out what she was talking about. It was another hand, and I slid my hand up the arm to feel a naked boob. No one said a word we just all went with the flow and starting having hot three way sex. Kristen’s hand pushed mine down to Kristen’s clit and I started rubbing it. For a while I fingered Kristen while she fingered Camille while she jacked me off. I made a move and went down Camille and ate her pussy out . It tasted so good. Kristen started making out with Camille and. Vasan was not pouring, the girl looked up. ‘I don’t want to wet your sari, remove it,’ said Vasan. Vasan expected her to giggle a coy refusal, but she surprised him by promptly removing her sari off her shoulder. Vasan noticed that her neck was bare of ornaments. She did not wear the yellow thread that married women wear round their necks. She must be unmarried. A virgin? Very probable for those were breasts did not look like ones handled by man. Meanwhile she had tucked the pallav to her waist and once again bent forward and cupped her hands. When the girl bent down she exposed more of her breasts, and to Vasan in his dazed condition they seemed to quiver like jelly. Vasan’s hands were trembling but he managed to pour the water without spilling. When he thought the girl had drunk enough he overturned the goblet on her head drenching her completely above the waist. The wet blouse clung to the breasts, the nipples, hardened by the coldness of the water, raised the blouse over them.
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It was Penoa, Thespa’s mother. The riders circled the burning home, then galloped over the half-frozen stream and up, over the brown hills on which her father would pasture his flocks in spring. She could see, through her tears, his limp body, impaled by an Aroth spear. A war cry tore from her throat. Sword twisting in her hand, she ran to her father’s side, her eyes wary of the shadows. But naught was to be seen. An early lamb, torn from the mother who had been herded away, cried at the top of the hill. The stream babbled under its crust of ice. But her father did not speak. His eyes were motionless, his face tinged blue, stiff from cold. And death. She knelt by him and wept, for how long she did not know, but when she raised her head again the noon sun was westering. She returned to the cave behind the rock, where she had hidden, returning home with her father’s stallion. She had attended the midwinter feast of Thor in the village that lay not two miles east from their home..

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