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The waves of mental relief washed over me like a tsunami washing away my fear of her permanent removal from my sphere of influence and close personal mentoring. I had this gut-wrenching concern that she would be so transformed by the manipulations of the phony wolf in sheep's clothing that she would be forever ruined for joyful merging of our kindred spirits. I watched her panty-clad bottom bouncing on the bed scarcely hiding her youthful buttocks and wondered if her pussy mound was already excited by the semi-firm mattress underneath. I knew that the devil incarnate Donald had spent almost a full month humping her into a submissive "Donald follower" with her pussy begging for more Donald spunk whenever he came into close proximity. I had it on good authority that he was simultaneously giving his liquid assets to several other young female students with below the belt packages that begged to be poked on a regular basis. I didn't blame him for it except for the fact he was tricking my. She wrapped both arms around her mother's body to cup Connie's firm breasts, her thumbs gliding over the stiffening nipples. "Ohh, that's nice... very nice," Connie sighed. "Give me a kiss, babe." She turned her head and was greeted by Becky's hungry mouth, which pressed eagerly into hers. The 37 year-old single mother whimpered as her daughter's tongue darted between her parted lips, the teenage girl's kiss filled with more passion than Connie had ever known from a lover. "Do you want to, sweetheart?" Connie asked as she gently broke away, gazing into her daughter's eyes. Becky nodded, taking her mother's hands in her own, fondling them for a few heartbeats before placing them on her chest. Connie palmed the breasts of her daughter, smiling as she sensed Becky's nipples growing taut through her clothes. Fingers made clumsy with sudden excitement, she unbuttoned the girl's top and slipped it off, then reached around to unhook her bra. Becky's upper half now bare, Connie leaned.
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This. The whole club.’ She looks around. ‘It’s very elegant,’ she says. ‘But it’s not my taste.’ ‘How come?’ ‘All this glass,’ she says. ‘I don’t trust it. What if you’d trip and fall right through it?’ ‘May I buy a beer?’ ‘No thanks. But a Diet Coke would be nice.’ ‘You don’t drink?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because I don’t like the taste of alcohol. Because I like to keep my head clear. Because I don’t like the way people behave after they’ve been drinking.’ ‘Oi! A Diet Coke for the lady! On me!’ ‘Yes, Mr. Ollerton,’ the bartender replies, and fixes a Diet Coke with ice and a slice of lemon for Ellenor. ‘The place has only just opened, and the bartender already knows your name?’ she says. ‘Mark Ollerton,’ he says, and shakes her hand. ‘I’m an architect. The architect of this whole place, actually. I’ve spent more time in here than the owners, even!’ Oh,’ she says. ‘Have I offended your work, then?’ ‘Not at all. It’s very refreshing to hear at least one voice agreeing with me.’ ‘You don’t.

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