I pull Ashley’s shirt over her shoulders, the old Dead shirt that has done a few too many rounds in washing machines over the years but has been a b...tter friend than anyone she knew when she bought it. Her breasts are beautiful, firm enough to free her from the need for bras and just about big enough to give a nice bulge in snug shirts and tops. A handful of dollars, pale riders on a lonesome road through no man’s land.My lips find hard nipples, soft lips and a hungry tongue and a painful moan. I confess that I love Shakespeare, and not everybody does. I think thatpeople who remember the lines and act as if it was a movie or TV,completely miss the point. The lines are verse, and have to be recitedas verse within the context of the scene. Anyway, I like to think thatmy love of the language came through when I perform any work by theBard.The director of the show asked that I be excused from sports so that Icould concentrate on the play. I had won the role of Portia. The headof. She walked over to the bags she had brought in from the travel plaza store and pulled out a new pair of track pants and a t-shirt and handed them to me. ‘Oh wow, thank you, these are real nice!’ I said examining them. The track pants were gray with a print of an Indian’s head on the right leg and the t-shirt was made from a thick white cotton fabric that had a matching print similar to the pants. ‘How can I repay you?’ I asked. ‘You already have’ she said with a smile that showed off her. They both moaned when Jehanna placed the head of his cock against her slippery entrance, his groan deepening as she pushed down. By contrast, Jehanna’s voice climbed to a breathy feminine cry as she took inch after inch, her inner walls pushed apart to accommodate him.There was a noticeable bulge in her belly as she impaled herself, his huge cock making its presence felt in her nubile body. Jehanna’s long eyelashes fluttered as the head nudged at her uterus, then she gasped as she sank the last.