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Sharon was first clarinet. That cloistered little suburb of our high school that was the concert band had its own marks of favour - playing the tuning...note at the beginning of the class was one of those marks, and Sharon was regularly accorded the honour. Little by little my infatuation grew.It was 1978. I'll never forget the shirts she used to wear, the stripes accentuating her petite bust. The flared pants that climbed her long legs up to her gorgeous behind. Straight brown hair hanging past. ." Mrs Driver smiled. "If you had any trouble breathing,just grunt three times, I'll leave the doors open so I can hear you.But..." and she raised a threatening index finger, "don't disturb MummyDriver for anything stupid, or else..." With these last words, she headed to the kitchen, from which the cookingsmells were coming, reminding Geoffrey that he was hungry. But he justhad to abide.His mind was reeling, as he was trying to make sense of what washappening to him. He had barely been in this. Susan was- and is- a very well-endowed woman, vibrant and gorgeous. Starlets half her age would kill- or at least undergo surgery- to have curves like hers. But as I jacked off, the image in front of me faded. I began, without wanting to- in fact, trying hard not to- imagining it was my mother in that same dress, glorious cleavage threatening to spill free for the enjoyment of all present.Although I hoped my erection would wilt when faced with such mental imagery, the exact opposite happened. I. „Ähh…“ Maren lachte: „Soso… Dann muss er sich noch ein bisschen gedulden. Frank ist wieder mal arbeiten. Da habe ich mir gedacht, ich gehe mit meinem notgeilen, 25-jährigen Ficker mal ein bisschen Bummeln ins Einkaufscenter. Na, was sagst du? Freust du dich?“ Eifrig nickte ich: „Oh ja, Maren!“ „Tatsächlich? Dann zeig mir, wie sehr du dich freust. Zeig mir deine Latte!“ Wie befohlen öffnete ich die Knöpfe meiner Leinenhose und mein Steifer sprang ins Freie. „Mhhh, lecker…“, fuhr sich Maren über.
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