My husband (and a couple of other men) walked around ill at ease without shedding any clothing. One by one various women took pity and asked them to s...rip, I think only to keep them interested in coming back for more. By the end of the night my husband (possibly due to a little mutual planning?) Was the only man left wearing his suit. One of the only regrets that I had in the whole evening was when someone openly asked how old our son was. My husband blurted out an absurd number and I quickly. Lifting her legs up by the feet, I push her knees to her boobs and apart. Looking at her crotch, the knickers seem to be soaking, and the upper thighs wet as well. I ask her if she has peed, she says no and I can feel her embarrassment increasing noticeably. I use a finger to sample the wetness on her thigh giving her mind a boost of arousal, then taste her juice while looking at her face. She turns her face away, so I tell her to look at me. I repeat the process from her other thigh, just. Laura coughed roughly, and dark crimson blood trickled from the corner of her lip. The man stopped and looked down at her once more. This time, however, his gaze was predatory and lustful.“You’re still alive?” He sounded surprised as he knelt down beside her. Rough hands grasped at her belt, pulling it apart before undoing her jeans. He yanked Laura’s jeans and plain blue panties down to her knees in one swift motion. She couldn’t do anything meaningful to struggle as she lay bare-assed in the. Swerving to miss the numerous potholes on the sand and dirt road, it entered the square spinning up plumes of sand. Getting out of the taxi Ray paid the driver, grabbed their bags, and made their way into the garden of sand. Stopping just inside, Ray and Bridget eyed the garden and its fruit trees growing around the edge of the whitewashed walls."How the hell can you grow fruit trees in sand?" Ray said nudging Bridget.Dropping their bags where they stood they, climbed the steps to the roof. As.