”“This is my home!” she yowled.“Your real home, my heaven-sent angel,” you smile, “I’m sending you back to heaven.”Trish eyes widen. N...w life shoots through her body as she wiggles around, trying uselessly to break free. Her pussy begins to squeeze your cock tighter again, but now, it doesn’t feel like the embracing hug from before. It feels like resistance again. It feels like rejection. It feels like it is being intruded. It feels like a savage rape.You wrap the panties around Trish’s neck. Absolutely soaked, stark naked, Lyn started to perform what her grand mother recognised as movements from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake ballet. They were graceful, poetic and active movement in such accurate detail and control, it was difficult to surmise that such a professional performance was being acted out on a drenched, albeit large and spacious lawn – with no music. “My she is good,” Sybil exclaimed to herself. Regardless of her ungainly figure – well, not corps de ballet figure, but with. More

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