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From: Bradley Stoke <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Door to Door Prostitution (MF FF) (Bradley Stoke)
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{ASSM} Door to Door Prostitution (MF FF) (Bradley Stoke)

Title: Door to Door Prostitution
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: MF FF
Short Summary: Door to Door Prostitution

[This story has been previously published on Ruthie's Club
(www.ruthiesclub.com) where it was edited by Ruthie and
illustrated by Brett Empty.]



Story: Door to Door Prostitution (4,968 words)


Jennifer was expecting many new things when she and her husband
moved to a new town when Kenneth took up his new job, What she
hadn't expected was for a prostitute to openly sell her services
on her very doorstep. Nor was she prepared for her husband's
reaction.


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www




	Door to Door Prostitution
        =========================


It was a weekday afternoon and Kenneth was working in
the office when the door-bell rang. Jennifer, his wife,
hurried out of the kitchen, brushing her fingers through her
hair, to open the front door. It was a new job for Kenneth
and a new home for both husband and wife in the
dormitory town of New Chaldon. They were still making
new friends and acquaintances, and for Jennifer, even now,
each new knock on the door brought a new surprise. Who
could it be? More neighbours introducing themselves?
Another local tradesman advertising his services to the
newcomers in Kinship Close? Jennifer nervously brushed
the traces of flour off her plastic apron and pulled open the
door, perhaps a little too hasty in her eagerness, to see who
was there to distract her from the tedium of her domestic
chores.

"Why! Hello, dear!" said the woman at the door smiling
amiably. "Is your husband home?"

"My husband?" wondered Jennifer, scrutinising her caller
from top to toe. "No. He's at work. Why? What do you
want?"

 Jennifer wasn't sure she'd managed to disguise the hint of
hostility in her voice. Who was this slut asking for her
husband? And slut, she was sure, was exactly what this
woman was, with her huge bosom heaving out of her
tightly strapped top, almost all of her chest on display. And
those clothes! No decent woman would wear such a tight
short shirt, such tall tottering stiletto heels, fishnet
stockings and suspenders. Nor would they sling their
handbag over their shoulder in such an aggressive fashion.

The woman smiled, her red-rouged lips cracking the thick
layer of make-up on her face, the eyes startlingly painted,
the eyebrows plucked to the width of a pencil-line and her
hair wild and bushy and pinned in place.

"Well, it's really your husband I'd like to see, dear, if you
don't mind," the woman continued. "I'm sure you won't
mind me saying that the services I offer are far more likely
to be of interest to him than to you. Though I can assure
you that the services I provide are truly of the highest
quality. And I offer discounts to my regular customers.
Anyway, here's my card. He can call me any time. I've got
voicemail."

With that, the strange woman handed Jennifer a printed
business card, smiled again, and then spun round on her
teetering heels and strode off. Jennifer studied her buttocks
shifting up and down in an awkwardly provocative manner
as she marched along the sidewalk, past the low hedges
that kept dogs off the front lawns and in front of the fire
hydrant just two houses down.

Jennifer frowned and then turned the card around in her
hand. "Cherry Bangle. Clean and Cheerful. What Every
Man Needs to Spice Up His Life. Will Visit at Times to
Suit." And at the bottom was an e-mail address and mobile
phone number. At first, Jennifer was inclined to crumple
the card into a ball and throw it in the waste bin, but she
decided against it, and placed it instead on the long shelf
that lined the hallway, just between two tiny statuettes of
jolly-looking hedgehogs dressed like country yeomen.

"You'll never believe who called today!" Jennifer
announced to her husband when Kenneth was seated at the
dining table with his supper in front of him: steak
casserole, boiled potatoes, carrots and peas, with a side
salad.

At first Jennifer wasn't sure he did believe her as she
recounted the story of the strange visitor, in her outrageous
outfit, displaying no shame at all, the hussy, a prostitute
selling her wares as if they were nothing more than vacuum
cleaner attachments or Tupperware dishes.

"Door-to-door prostitution?" Kenneth mused. "I'd heard
something about that at work. And you say she left a
card?"

"Yes, she did!"

"And did you throw it away?"

"Well, nearly. I should have done that, I know, but I was so
surprised by the cheek of it, I kept it in the hall."

"Well, let's see it, love!"

Jennifer smiled. "Of course, dear," she said, thinking this
was a rum kind of joke for a married couple to share.

She wiped the corners of her mouth with a serviette, lifted
herself up out of her seat, the hem of her skirt falling down
below her knees, and strode into the hallway, returning
with the card.

"Cherry Bangle?" Kenneth remarked. "Typical whore
name. Like Kitty Sprinkle or Goldie Delight or Ember
Diamond. So, what did this prostitute look like? Did she
have large breasts and long legs?"

"Yes, she did," Jennifer replied, recalling her husband's
taste in a woman's figure that she had no chance of rising
to. Her own breasts, while not very small, were nonetheless
smaller than average. Her legs were decidedly very average
indeed, with thick ankles that definitely broke up the curve
that traced from the top of her thigh to her toes.

Kenneth carefully placed the business card in the top
pocket of his shirt.

"You aren't keeping the card, are you?" asked Jennifer in
alarm.

Kenneth smiled. "I don't see why not. This Cherry Bangle
sounds like a delightful woman from what you say."

"But she's nothing but a cheap tart."

"Well, I doubt whether she'll be especially cheap, Jenny,
but I'm sure she'll be worth checking out. Especially if, as it
says on the card, she'll spice up my life."

"She was really the commonest kind of slut you've ever
seen!"

"I'm sure that's not true, love. There are some pretty
common kinds of sluts plying their trade in New Chaldon, I
can tell you. And anyway, if she does visit, it'll save me the
trouble of going to the brothel on the other side of town."
Kenneth smiled again. "Oh, Jenny! Don't look so down in
the mouth! At least, you'd know who it was that I was
having sex with."

Jennifer nodded, and then cleared away the plates to wash
in the kitchen. This was a part of married life they'd never
told her about when she was a young lady waiting for a
date and Kenneth became the man in her life. Of course
she knew now, as did every one of her married woman
friends, that all men were like that. It was just something
you had to accept. Especially if a wife wanted to maintain a
happy family. At first, it had come as a shock to Jennifer
when she discovered that Kenneth regularly slept with
prostitutes whenever he was away on business trips. The
other wives assured her this was natural for men. They
were always like that. It was just what men were like. She
had no choice: like it or lump it.

Up till now, there had always been some pretence of a
distance between her husband's whoring, often
accompanied by his work colleagues, and his domestic life,
where he was a keen gardener and an enthusiastic DIY-er.
But Jennifer had been told that just as one's own sex-life
with one's husband became less and less regular, having
become as rare an event as those bouquets he occasionally
snatched from the florists by the bus station and brought
back for her, so too would his liaisons with prostitutes
become more frequent.

Jennifer stood by the kitchen sink, her plastic gloves
protecting her fingers from the sting of the detergent,
washing the dishes clean of the traces of food she'd so
lovingly and dutifully prepared. It was so unfair! If she'd
ever chosen to have sex with anyone other than her
husband, she would instantly be shunned by her neighbours
and friends, and might even face the collapse of the
marriage she'd worked so hard toward making a success.

The next time she saw Cherry Bangle it was at an
appointed time. Jennifer was rather disappointed to find
that the girl was punctual, almost to the second. She stood
by the window, watching the whore stub out with the toe of
her pointed stiletto shoes the cigarette she'd been smoking
before she strode up the drive.

Jennifer opened the door.

"Why hello, Mrs Jackson," the prostitute said cheerfully.
"Is your husband ready?"

Jennifer nodded her head. She was too embarrassed to say
anything.

"So where is the lucky man, love?"

Jennifer found her voice. "Our bedroom. Up the stairs. Top
of the landing. First door on the right."

"Right! Great! Thanks, Mrs Jackson," Cherry said, passing
Jennifer by in the hallway and ascending the carpeted stairs
on her tottering heels, leaving coin-shaped indentations
where her heels had trod. Jennifer watched the woman turn
at the landing and then push open the bedroom door.

"Hello, Ken, sweetheart!" Cherry said, in far too cheery a
voice for Jennifer's sensitivity. "So, what's it going to be?"

And then the door closed behind her, and Jennifer didn't
hear whatever it was that her husband had answered. But as
much as she wanted to blot out of her mind any awareness
that her husband was currently enjoying carnal relations
with a prostitute, as she sat in the living room, watching a
Saturday afternoon soap opera, she could still hear the
unmistakeable cries of a woman in apparent sexual ecstasy.
And weren't those also the grunting, snorting sounds of her
husband following a very similar rhythm? And the bed-rest
was definitely thumping against the wall in a
correspondingly regular fashion.

Eventually, Jennifer's hour of purgatory and Cherry's
agreed duration of service were over, and she heard the
prostitute descend the staircase after making her (far too
amorous) goodbyes. The door closed behind her and
Jennifer drew in a deep breath. At least that was over!

It was half an hour or more later when Kenneth finally
made his way down to the living room. He was dressed
only in his vest and white boxer shorts, his feet bare and
his legs hairy. He slumped in his sofa and, without
checking whatever it might be that Jennifer had been
watching on television, picked up the remote and switched
it over to a sports channel where a game of baseball was in
full swing.

"Damn! She was good!" he exclaimed, with a broad
unapologetic smile.

"Was she, dear?" asked Jennifer anxiously, rather hoping
he might yet express a quite different opinion.

"She was damned good! You don't find girls as good as her
at Miss Pussy's very often. If ever at all! In fact, I think
even the girls at the Metropolitan aren't up to her
standards!"

"Did you enjoy yourself, dear?"

"Yes, I did. And I'll make damned sure I see her again. I
can see that Cherry Bangle will be a frequent guest to the
Jackson household."

"Will she, dear?" asked Jennifer, who'd been rather
dreading that resolve. But as she was able to observe, it had
been a long time, if there had ever been a time at all, since
Kenneth had expressed nearly as much enthusiasm for his
lovemaking with his wife as he was now expressing for his
whore.

And so it was that Cherry Bangle became a regular visitor
to the household maintained by Jennifer's labours with the
duster and vacuum cleaner, and paid for by the issue of her
husband's labours in the office. In fact, it was every
Saturday at two in the afternoon and every Wednesday at
eight in the evening. These were appointments that
Jennifer rather dreaded and her husband so obviously
looked forward to.

Cherry would arrive, her cigarette stubbed out before
opening the low front garden gate, and smile amiably at
Jennifer who opened the door, before ascending the
staircase to accompany Kenneth who'd be waiting
impatiently for her in the bedroom. And then the two of
them would have sex, noisily, undisguisedly, and
sometimes for rather more than the scheduled one hour.
And when Cherry finished, she'd be down the stairs,
perhaps smoothing her tight skirt or adjusting the bosom
just about held in place by her skimpy top, and out of the
door, perhaps to see another client.

Jennifer wasn't at all sure she ever wanted any words to
pass between her and this slutty whore. Those words she
did say were as polite and restrained as she could let them
be, but Cherry was far more affable.

"Nice weather, isn't it?" she'd say. "Are you going to do
some gardening? Those geraniums you've got are
fantastic!" Or she might comment on how well Jennifer
had her hair cut: "You must give me the name of your
hairdresser!" Or compliment her on her dress sense: "That's
an Agnes B, isn't it? Or is it Christian Dior? What really?
Neither of them! I wouldn't believe it possible!" Or she
might remark on the care Jennifer had taken on the house:
"Goodness! This place is spotless. And you do it all
yourself!"

And then Cherry would continue on her way, either up the
stairs to commence fucking her husband or down the
garden path to where she would light her cigarette,
occasionally turning her head to wave goodbye to the
window of the bedroom above, where no doubt Kenneth
was also watching the slut leave.

Despite the fact that Cherry's very presence was a very real
affront to her, Jennifer actually found herself rather liking
the girl's compliments and the way she smiled at her in
such a friendly manner. Her friends, whom she might meet
while shopping in town or at whose homes she might visit
for an hour or so in the afternoon while their husbands
were at work, were usually so tired and complaining, often
taking the opportunity of their encounters merely to unload
onto Jennifer a litany of the trials their children had at
school or to boast about their husbands' achievements in
the world of salaried professional employment. Never once
would they broach the subject of the whores their husbands
regularly entertained and who, for all Jennifer knew, could
include Cherry Bangle. Conversation would tenderly step
around the one taboo subject that caused her friends to pity
her so much.

"Where are your children?" one neighbour asked once
when they'd hardly got to know each other at all, sitting in
the living room surrounded by plastic toys and two
crawling toddlers. "Are they at school? Or do you send
them to a play group?"

Jennifer lowered her head, the shame of her barrenness
humiliating her. "I don't have any children," she confessed
in a low voice.

"No children!" her neighbour exclaimed, studying Jennifer
carefully. "Oh well! You don't want to know what a trouble
they can be! Why! Jimmy here... The problem we had
getting him a place at the nursery!"

But however amiable Cherry might be, Jennifer wasn't at
all sure she liked to be reminded in such a regular and
blunt way the extent to which Kenneth felt it was necessary
to go elsewhere for the pleasures that properly a wife
should provide for her husband.

"I don't like your whore visiting you here!" she bravely
asserted to Kenneth one evening over supper. There! She'd
said it!

Kenneth raised his head from his meal, a boiled potato
pronged by his fork. "So, you'd rather I visited her? That
costs more, you know. Why don't you want her to come
here?"

"It's not decent! It's not right! It's not how it ought to be!"

"It's how it is with a lot of the guys at work, Jenny dear. In
fact, Patrick has two or three different girls see him a week.
And his wife doesn't complain."

"I don't care. This is our home. Our matrimonial home. I
don't clean, dust and tidy it just for you to make love to a
shameless slut. It's not decent!"

"Jenny. We don't have children. It's not as if we're trying to
protect them, is it? Perhaps if you'd been able to bear
children, it'd be different. But there's only the two of us.
And it is a man's prerogative to have sex when he needs it.
Just as it is a wife's duty to honour and obey her husband."

Jennifer lowered her head. She knew she was defeated.

"And anyway, Jenny, making love is thirsty work. I've been
meaning to ask. Could you bring in a tray of wine and
some biscuits about half-way through? Say about half two
if it's a Saturday. Just leave the tray. It's the least we can do
for our guest."

Jennifer gasped.

"You want me to come into the bedroom while you're...
you're... having sex with another woman and leave you
something to drink?"

"Just a couple of glasses, love. White will be fine. We've
got some Chardonnay. That's what Don at work insists
from his wife. Only, being the boor he is, he'd rather have
beer than wine. Though a Bud or a Miller Lite mightn't be
a bad idea on a hot day!"

Jennifer was resigned to her duty. And so it was that the
coming Saturday, she drew a deep breath at the bottom of
the stairs, the clock having passed the half past two mark,
and ascended each step very carefully and cautiously,
carrying a tray, one of their wedding presents, on which
she placed two glasses of Dry White wine and a selection
of twiglets in a bowl.

Each step was an agony, each step just one more towards
the scaffold, while the sounds coming from the bedroom
got ever louder and ever more distinct. "Fuck! Fuck!
Fuck!" she could hear her husband grunt. "Urrgghh!
Ahhhh!" came the corresponding cries from Cherry
Bangle.

Jennifer pushed open the door, mechanically strode across
the bedroom and placed the tray on the dressing table on
the other side of the room from where her, their, marital
bed was occupied by her husband and his whore, and then,
with the same mechanical efficiency, strode back out of the
room.

Once she'd pushed close the door to her bedroom, she was
able to experience again in her memory what she had seen
and had tried to blank out of her mind while placing the
tray so carefully beside her porcelain ornaments on the
dresser, and just by the chair where Cherry Bangle had
tidily laid out all her clothes with the exception, Jennifer
couldn't help noticing, of her fishnet stockings and
suspenders.

And on the bed itself, where almost all the sexual passion
of her life had been enacted in steadily decreasing
regularity over the years, that was where Kenneth, her
husband, was thrusting his naked buttocks, his testicles
flopping with the same rhythm as his coital thrusts, into the
space between two parted legs. But as Jennifer noticed
with horror, the orifice into which her husband's penis was
penetrating and about which he never ceased to grunt
"Fuck!" as he did so, was not the orifice whose counterpart
was the only one of Jennifer's to have experienced
Kenneth's thrusting member, but the anus, an orifice in
Cherry Bangle that seemed much larger and much more
capacious than Jennifer could imagine an anus ever being.

Jennifer hurried down to the living room, sat down on the
sofa and stared at the Constable reproduction on the wall
above the fireplace. And, at last, when the horror of her
thoughts became too insistent, she burst into tears, sinking
her head into her outspread fingers and feeling the warm
salty drops seep through, wetting the gold of her wedding
ring as they did so, and dripping onto her chin and kitchen
apron.

This was how it was to be from now on. Jennifer would
meet Cherry at the front door, still amiable and cheerful,
either asking questions about domestic matters or
complimenting Jennifer on her dress sense. Then after a
half hour or so, Jennifer would bring a tray loaded with
wine and nibbles into her bedroom, all the while aware that
next to her there was the sight of her husband being
fellated by the woman who'd been so genial to her earlier.
Or of Kenneth fucking her hard and hard again in the arse
or in the vagina. Or even of him fucking his whore in the
mouth with the same violence he fucked her lower orifices.
And from the two of them, but especially from her
husband, she would hear the most profane and obscene
language. And then later, cordially and even cheerfully,
Cherry would say goodbye to her on the doorstep,
sometimes hovering just that little bit longer so she might
take down the particulars of a shop where she could avail
herself of something about Jennifer's home or person that
she had taken a liking to.

And then, one day, Cherry arrived on a Wednesday
evening when Kenneth was away at a conference, but one
hastily convened and for which it had all been rush rush
rush the day before in packing his suits and ties into his
cases.

"Hello, Jenny sweetheart. Gosh! Those shoes of yours are
lovely. Quite the thing! They're not Gucci are they?"

"Er... no, they're not!" admitted Jennifer, flattered despite
herself.

"Well! They're excellent copies if they're not!" Cherry
smiled. She tilted her gaze up the stairs toward the
bedroom. "Kenny waiting for me, I guess."

"No, not today," said Jennifer, perhaps unable to totally
disguise her glee, although for all she knew her husband
was probably at this minute fucking some whore he had
met at the conference hotel. "He's away. He won't be back
till Saturday."

"Saturday, eh? Our next appointment. And he was my last
for today! Well, that's a disappointment!"

"I suppose you'll just have to go home," Jennifer remarked.

Cherry smiled again. "I guess so. Well! It's quite a way and
I'm tired. You couldn't let me stop for a cup of tea or coffee
first could you? I'm quite tuckered out! It's been a long
day!"

Jennifer's initial reaction was to say "No! Go away, you
thieving whore! You steal my husband's affection and now
you want his fucking coffee!" But these were not the words
she said. Instead, she smiled in return and said "Well, all
right. I was just putting the kettle on anyway."

Cherry followed Jennifer down the hallway into the
kitchen. She whistled as she entered, supported by tottering
heels, and the definition of her long legs and bosomy body
silhouetted against the doorway. "Phooee! This is one
smart kitchen!"

"Haven't you seen it before?"

"No. Not at all. All I've seen of your home is the bedroom.
And then mostly just the bed. But that's the case with most
of my clients."

"Is that so?" wondered Jennifer politely, filling the kettle
from the water filter and then clicking the switch so the red
light shone. "Do you have many clients?"

"Mine's a busy trade, Jenny love," Cherry admitted, sitting
down on the stool. "I have two or three from this close
alone. And there's more than a dozen from Kunley
Crescent. And there's all the more casual trade I get.
Sometimes the phone never stops ringing!"

"And are they all men like my husband, your clients?"

"Like your husband? I guess so. A lot of the regulars are
professionals or executives. But it's all sorts really."

"And have you been a... been a... have you been working as
a... for long?"

"What? As a sex worker? Quite a while, love. I used to
work as a secretary. Some kind of insurance or loan
business. But after my husband left me, well I just didn't
make enough to cover the bills. You know. Way it goes!"

"And my husband... I mean... what is it...?"

And then Jennifer paused. What was she trying to say?
What was the question she wanted answered? She busied
herself by spooning some granules of coffee into the mugs
she'd taken out of the kitchen cupboard.

"I'm sorry, Jenny sweetheart? What did you ask?"

Jennifer turned round to face Cherry who, for a change, did
not have a broad smile across her face. In fact, it was an
expression of genuine concern. At this sight and also at the
thought that normally at this time, Jennifer would be
preparing a tray to take up to the bedroom, something
snapped inside her. The coffee jar, whose lid she had just
secured, dropped out of her hand and bounced on the
spongy kitchen tile, while her face, rather less resiliently,
cracked and shattered into countless fragments of misery.
She stood there, in the kitchen, by the boiling kettle, her
face a disintegrated mess of tears, her hands uselessly
dropped to either side.

It was Cherry who took Jennifer in hand, after kicking off
her stiletto heeled shoes, and guided her out of the kitchen,
one arm around her shoulder and the other gripping
Jennifer's arm. And then sat her down on the sofa where
Jennifer had intended later to watch a series of situation
comedies, quiz shows and soap operas, and let the
housewife lean her head, her permed hair crushed to one
side, on her bosom, while gently stroking her shoulder and
back. All the while, Jennifer just sniffed and wept, her
voice too sunk inside her to come to the surface. Cherry,
meanwhile, said nothing at all except the occasional
"There! There!" while her client's wife buried her cheek
into Cherry's warm chest.

It must have been ten minutes or more before Jennifer
regained enough sense of propriety and consciousness to
utter, again and again, as if it was a mantra: "I'm sorry! I'm
sorry!" And all the while, Cherry made only soothing
noises and stroked Jennifer's hair, neck and shoulder as one
might a crying child.

Then she said: "It's not you who should feel sorry, Jenny
dear! What have you ever done to be sorry for?"

"Why? To be like this... to be crying... to be..."

"You have every right to cry, sweetest. It's your husband
who should be sorry. Like all my married clients should be.
It's a crying shame what they put their wives through!"

"But it's you who..."

"If it wasn't me, love, it'd be someone else," Cherry
remarked with just a hint of bitterness in her normally
sunny voice.

Jennifer rested back on Cherry's bosom. Hearing someone,
anyone, for the first time, express thoughts so much like
her own, began to dry her tears in a way a handkerchief
could never do, not by soaking up the flow, but by
damming its source.

"You're a very pretty lady, Jenny," Cherry remarked after a
while. "You take so much care and attention of yourself.
You have a sweet face, a sad little smile and you have a
trim body under your skirt and blouse."

"But my ankles..."

"Your ankles are nothing. Your husband doesn't appreciate
the beauty he has at his disposal all the time, but instead
contents himself with a woman like me, who in a single
day will have sex with a dozen or more men like him. Isn't
there something wrong there?"

"A dozen or more men...?"

"At least! I never keep count. Too depressing. What you
need is someone to make you feel loved. Someone who
will make you feel treasured."

"But where can I find that? If not with my husband, who
with?"

"Jenny! Do you need to ask? I'm free at the moment. Your
husband was to be my last client for the day. If you like, I
could give you the affection you seek?"

Jennifer's head rose abruptly, but she didn't struggle to free
herself from Cherry's arms.

"Are you suggesting that you...? That you and I...? That
we...?"

"If you wish, sweetest."

"But that's perverse! That's disgusting!"

"It is rather less disgusting and perverse than what I often
do, love. I can assure you of that."

"But am I supposed to pay for it? Like my husband?"

"Pay for it? Well, of course. It's what I do for a living. But I
charge my lady clients substantially less than my
gentleman ones."

"Lady clients?"

"Of course! Ladies want love as much as men. What do
you think?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"I'll tell you what, Jenny sweetheart," smiled Cherry lifting
Jennifer's face up towards her own and gazing into her eyes
with what was clearly a practised eye, "You being in so
much distress and your husband being such an
unreasonable sod and you being so kind to me all these
times I've visited, bringing in that tray of wine and nibbles,
and you being, after all, such a very attractive woman, with
such a narrow waist and such an exquisite swan-like
neck..."

Jennifer felt weak under the gaze and under the shower of
words. She smiled at Cherry despite her reservations about
her propriety, her emotions and her duty to her husband,
and let Cherry grasp her head behind her ears and under her
perm.

"...and you having such very very pretty knees that pop out
beneath your dress, and such elegant feet with painted toes
which demand to be sucked and such straight white teeth,
and such bright shiny blue eyes, and having the personality
and radiance of an angel..."

Jennifer's heart beat harder and more insistently inside her
breast as Cherry leaned closer and closer, the words
coming out like warm breezes of comfort on the face,
seeing for the first time the hints of freckles around
Cherry's nose, that one of her lower front teeth was slightly
chipped and that her chin was pointed with a slight
dimple...

"...and such a beautiful and attractive woman such as you.
Why! The first time will have to be free!"

And with that the two women's faces met at the lips, their
hands grasped each other's arms and legs and their breaths
came out equally short and urgent.

"I don't usually kiss my clients!" Cherry announced, before
doing precisely that to Jennifer's lips.




For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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