Lajja loved to wear my college t-shirts and shorts. As I came back downstairs after changing I saw her in the kitchen so I threw her a cut-off t-shirt...and a pair of loose gym shorts. A few minutes later Lajja was in the work-out room doorway in that cut-off t-shirt and baggy shorts holding a bottled beer with a pathetic look on her face. I just told her to bring it here that I would unscrew it for her. She laughed and teasingly said, “that’s my problem bro I only know how to screw not to. With that, he raised himself slightly so that he could put her lags over his shoulders and started to ram his cock in deeper, bending slightly and said "who does that pussy belong to? “Who owns that cunt of yours...," he commanded, "You do. You own my pussy...my pussy belongs to you....I belong to you...oh, fuck, give me that cock. I love your big black cock!" she cried. With that she sobbed "faster now, fuck me, go deeper." and pretty much anything she was feeling at that moment, she just said. With the island and it’s ruined keep in the neutral center. Yes! That would be perfect and permit no possible favoritisms between the two lands. After a lot of reflection, and hours of discussions with our anthropomorphic friends, we presented Barry and the prince a fait-de-accompli.He wasn’t happy about it. Already in his mind’s eye, Prince Magnus had ‘conquered’ these lands (and damned near all by himself too!). Mentally, he’d already crowned himself Emperor, or something like that, and being. She was a German lady living in Leicester. No one had told me what to expect.I met her for the first time that evening. She was in bed looking through some papers. She smiled warmly and gestured for me to sit in the chair by her bed. Her name was Helga and she had lovely blue eyes and short fair hair. She was clearly not used to being in a care home.I said all the right things, told her that I would be her carer and I explained the routine of the home. She lent over to me and in broken English.