He handed Terry’s and Isolde’s glasses to each of them, and picked up his own. “A toast,” he said, “To the three ring circus arm of the Bras... Ring Plooka Band. I mean, Polka, ” he quickly emended. Isolde giggled as they clinked glasses. “Plooka, huh? And just whose ass are you thinking about plooking?” she asked. “Not mine!” Terry said quickly. “Gee,” George said, “I’ve never had a French maid before.” Isolde thought she heard a little edge creeping in beneath their thinly veiled banter, and. Our tongues dance with each other as we continue to kiss.Margret pulls away and I moan. She smiles and grabs my hand, leading me to her bedroom.Once there, she pulls off my top and pushes me down on the bed. I'm laying on her bed in just shorts watching her as she dances around. She unbuttons her shorts and slides them down, turning and bending over so I can see her perfect round ass in front of me.She turns back around and she has her devilish grin back. The one I have started to fall in love. More

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