Her hands wandered lower until she was examining the chastity belt that restrained the poor pony's dripping sex."You poor thing," she muttered, as her hand slid around to play with the plug tail buried deep in her rump. More moisture rained down her muscular thighs through the belt as she ground her hips against her hands.A warm chuckle told her that Ray was behind her and Biscuit cried out softly as she stood up, leaving her still frustrated."Time to take them in," he said.Marie noticed the. I gave the only answer that I could."I've always been fascinated by women's clothes. And I know abouttransvestism and drag queens and so on... so a few years ago, I beganto wonder why men do it. I began to wonder how it felt... so a coupleof years ago, I tried it. I borrowed one of Lisa's dresses and tried iton. And I liked it. It felt nice. That's when I realised that women'sclothes are nicer then men's clothes. They are softer and morecomfortable to wear." I couldn't help but rub my hand. She wrote mostly about the art that she saw, and the people around her. Today was no different, in that she chose to write about the way he looked at the painting. It was from this angle she noticed his eyes were a jaded shade of green. His flesh was tanned, and his shirt exposed the muscular build of his arms that would suggest hard labor, at least implied that with the dust on his torn jeans. He was handsome regardless of how he looked to the women at the desk who sort of turned their nose up. Binoculars. Check. Print off a couple of pictures of her just naked to put in her car. Check. Burner phone. Check. Not I just wait to see my little birdy fly. I sent a text to her phone asking if she was up. The reply came quickly asking who was I. My response was the guy that just unlocked your car. The string of swears in those texts would curdle milk. 10 missed phone calls later, the moment I had been waiting for as she timidly stands up to look around with one is across her.
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