I knock on the door of #477, and an old man opens. He is wearing a silken komono robe, and smiles toothily at me. He is old. Very old and wrinkled,...and I do not want to be here, but he beckons me in. He indicates he does not speak Russian, and I do not speak whatever language he does know. He hands me an envelope, and as instructed I go into the bathroom to count it. It is more than I have seen ever! More than the two weekends of modeling! And most importantly, it is how much Mr.. At this point, so many ideas are running through my head. Do I fuck her to satisfaction? Do I tell her to go away? Do I tell her to take care of herself on this side of the tent while I go back to the other side? Before I get a chance to ask I feel her small hand inside the leg of my shorts, slowly stroking my cock. Faster than I could react he was at full attention and she took notice, grasping my cock firmly and not letting me pull away. "Shhh.... if anything, we'll blame it on the alcohol". He tensed up again and I did too, getting ready to go after him. Then he just seemed to deflate and got up, heading for the house. Myrna watched him, and I could see in her eyes something I had never seen before, hate. She took a deep breath and motioned with her hand to someone out of my sight. I hadn't realized Kat and Sally had come up, and I wondered how much they had heard. My question was quickly answered when Sally ran up and hugged Myrna, crying on her shoulder, saying how sorry she. Missy instantly gets the hint, her cat ear twitching, and raises a leg up and sits up on the table. The boy grabs the borrowed bikini bottoms and pulls. With her help, he slides them down her long legs and off her feet, dropping them to the floor, Missy lies on her elbows with her ass at the edge, her tail dangling and slowly carving through the air in anticipation. Brock kneels in front of her, the perfect height now. She places her legs over his shoulders as he grips her tail to pull it away.