What the Dickens was it doing here? Griff had returned from a late vote at parliament and the parcel had been waiting outside the door of his London f...at. "Special Delivery," Tommy Tuchner, the doorman, had told him. Parcelforce had dropped it off late that afternoon.There must be some mistake ... but no, the paperwork on the lid was all in order. His name, his address, even though he'd never ordered it.Why was it here? A practical joke? Or something else?Griff took out his phone and rang Rhys. I felt another duller version of the clip that he had placed on my clit. I started to realize that he was placing tiny little clips down both sides of my lips. It felt like close to 5 on each side. They felt small, like little pinches. I thought I was going to cum on the spot. "Not Yet" was all he kept saying. He kept asking me if I wanted him to continue. I just kept moaning and arching my hips up to him. He sat back to admire his handywork. I felt him tugging on the clips a little. I had no. “Arthur... nooooooo” She was starting to lose it. His gentle, but purposeful, tongue was going to work on her. From clitoris to inner labia and then deep inside her love channel, it went back and forth. She tried pressing her lips tightly together to stop herself from voicing her pleasure, but it was hopeless. By the time she heard the buzzing noise of her Rampant Rabbit she was already screaming. “They like to hear,” he had told her. “Like to hear you getting pleasure from me; they like to. Bouncing around in the back of his Landrover, President Samuel Mwamba wondered to himself what the hell was he doing holding the meeting out at the farm instead of his air-conditioned office in Gujanga city. The farm was unique. Named ‘Perigord’, presumeably to remind the previous owners, the Rochas, of home, it bore no similarity to its namesake. Apart from being the largest in Gujanga, it had two distinct halves. One was typical african plain. Dry for most of the year, but lush and green.