“You bastard!” she yelled, her hands slapping at my chest like hard rain. “You utter bastard! Don’t you ever speak to me again!”At last, I m...naged to lurch past her and pull the door open, sending her light frame flying back as the door carried her. I shot through and sank down in the corridor, bent over, sucking in awkward breaths. I think my slight drunkenness had saved me most of the pain. Or perhaps it just didn’t hurt as much as I’d imagined it would? I staggered to the lifts and crept. Aaami more jabo reeeee…ohhhh…aaaar parchina ….sahya korteeee…prai 10 min wor gud chater por aami bollam mamaoni badat ekbar chusr de ebar aami toke thanda korbo.kayekbaar wor mukhe bara dhukiye gala abdi raamthap ditei wo prai bami kore phelchilo…ami wor mukher lalai bheja bada wor dhoner wopor rekhe alpo dhokatei wo maaaaaa… Bole kende uthlo….aami deri na kore amar 6″ dhonta wor tight gude full dhukiye dildam….wo jantranai bhison chitkar korte laagla ….babuaaaaaaaaaaaa… Laagheeee… Lagche……ber. ‘Oh Sully, you’re making me cum,’ I cried, and with that, I buried my face in his neck, and he held me tight as my body convulsed in orgasmic ecstasy. ‘Did you have a nice orgasm?’ Sully asked as I caught my breath. He pulled the drumstick out of my pussy, which was dripping wet with my juices. ‘That was intense,’ I told him. ‘I hope you don’t intend to use that drumstick at a concert and throw it out to the crowd,’ I joked. Sully laughed. ‘No, I think I’ll keep this one here in case you want. He was almost as sexy as either Fabio or Antonio Sabato Jr. For the photo shoot, Frederico was to be a biker on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. He came out with a black leather jacket, no shirt, black leather boots, and black leather chaps over tight, dark jeans. I thought to myself I bet all the men in Italy are so fine; Michelangelo's David would probably wear clothes. I got my 35 MM camera ready as he got on the motorcycle. First, he began leaning on the motorcycle like he was riding it.While.