Peachy Keen Films-Rave Date

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for him and suggested to go to his place. Save a Rophie for next time.

At his place, he looked into the eyes of this edible damsel. He made the usual conversation. Then, he attacked her. He had her pinched to the bed, his arm on her neck. He would her out, bang her, then sploog her off somewhere on the East side. But this one was squirmy and slid out. She was on the floor, crawling away from him, but he swiftly grasped her by the hair, toughly convulsing her up, then sticking back down on the bed. He was on her, attempting to hold her while reaching for his garrote. This would get the job done. Just as he got it stiffly around her neck, she controlled to get her shoes against his belly...she was powerful, most likely a cheerleader or ballerina. She pushed rock-hard and he fell off of her. Again, she was liberate, hollering for help, but he got the strap looped around her and grimaced her back. This time it was for real. No escape, no surviving, he was going to poking kill this lil' slut.

Her face revved strike crimson as he pulled on the string. It dug into her gentle flesh, her assets heaved and bucked, her face twisted making every budge to draw in air. Her forearms wagged insanely, attempting everything they could to get away. She hammer him, attempted to grasp at the garrote, at his palms, attempted to him some more, attempted to shove herself off him. Nothing worked and she was loosing the battle.

Her gams spread out, muscles locking and stitching. Her thighs shove upward, her palms began to involuntary contraction, her frigs grasping at bits of carpet.

After a lengthy fight, she grew weaker and weaker. Her glance became acceptance, her assets became still, and she was dead.

He took the cable off of her neck, unveiling redness, briefly to bruise. He flipped her dead weight off of him. Then, he flipped her back to get a finer glance at her. She gazed, blankly, no life in her eyes, yet still the sweetie that attracted him to her at the club. Now it was his time to be with her on his terms.
He did not rush. Every part of her would be looked at, fumbled and, most importantly, reeked. Oh, he enjoyed the aroma of a gal and she was, however youthful, a nymph really.
He spent time with her on the floor, probing her, fondling her. He toyed with her limbs, used them to fumble herself. He elevated her up, liquidated her tee-shirt. Then, he inspected her more. Eventually, he raised her up on the sofa.
There, he spent time on her beaver, eliminating her undies, rubbing and stinking her diminutive, rosy lil' twat. She was new, a cherry perhaps. She was his for this night.
After probing, fondling, gobbling, he slipped is manhood inwards her and pummeled the college doll. She was cock-squeezing and sizzling. After a while, he attempted her hatch, gliding his stiffy in and out of her lips. Then, back inwards her cunny, eyeing her face as she gawped lifeless--blankly. He came on her stomach.
Pleased, he carried her assets around the apartment, conversing delicately to it as was his ritual. When completed he spinned her up in the fresh carpet he bought, just for such occurrences.