I worked my shoulders as I marched lasciviously down oriental the hallway, popping each hip, pretending I was parting the sea of people at a party, and all eyes were on me. “That’s right, bitches.” I grinned at a poster of Lebron James, “Emily Huston just walked in, and all your thirsty boyfriends wanna get a drink of this pussaaaaAAAAAAAH!” And fate punished me for my hypothetical arrogance by making me forget there were stairs in front of me. I hit each step with a punctuation of breath, tumbling head-over-heels until I was sprawled in the kitchen, my skirt draped over my head, my beautiful California Roll headdress sacrificed to provide cushion for my stupid fucking brain. I lay there for a moment, exposed and in pain, wondering if dying was preferable to getting up from this. A fervent knock on the kitchen door confirmed that yes, dying was indeed the better option. “Emily?!” Mrs. Johnson’s muted voice screamed from the other side of the glass door, “Oh my god, Emily, are you OK?” You can kill me now, God. I thought grimly. REBECCA I knew I still had it. I was two years shy of forty, and had japanese lived a life of drugs, unprotected sex, and worst of all, rampant tanning, but damn it, I still had it. My skin had hardly aged at all, my hair was still its luxuriant strawberry-blonde, and only the faintest stretchmarks marred my ample bust. I had an ass you could balance a wine bottle on, and I currently had it stuffed into the tightest pair of Levi’s money could buy. Genetics had been kind to me, but that wasn’t how I knew I still had the all-important “it.” No, my retention of “it” was confirmed by the eyes of the junior varsity football team, which seemed to be magnetized to my heart-shaped asset. “Nothing like good genes, MILF and Hairy Girls Fucking good jeans.” Lucy chuckled next to me, her lips pursed around a cigarette. The two of us were leaning on a fence at the park, looking at the young bucks like we were still in high school. Of course, Lucy never went to high school; not as a student, anyway. “I swear, the older I get, the younger I want ‘em.” I sighed to Lucy, taking a pull of my own cigarette, “At this rate, Chris Hansen’s going to be knocking on my door instead of you.” “Is that how I make you feel, Becky?” Lucy grinned devilishly at me, which I guessed was the only way she could grin. “You used to show up for fun, now you show up for favors.” I sighed. “You owe me.” Lucy shrugged. “I know.” I muttered. I owed her everything. I turned my forearm over, the entire length of it colored with tattoos. My whole body was, from ankle to neck, with a few spaces between the pieces, asian but not many. I’d gotten most of them almost two decades ago, but despite the sun exposure, none had faded. But it wasn’t the tattoos I was looking at; it was the scar that ran from wrist to elbow. “Are you my friend, Lucy?” I asked her softly. “I like to think I am.” Lucy said wrapping an arm around my waist, “I like to think we’re more than just that.” I stared at her. She had wavy black hair that came together in a slight widow’s peak, a chiseled jaw, lush, red lips, and hazel eyes. Her cheekbones were so dramatic that I once wondered if they were prosthetic, and her brow seemed to dip slightly inward, giving her portrait a look of subtle menace. Below her portrait was a pale body of perfect curves and smooth flesh, and she displayed it generously in her plaid skirt and midriff-revealing shirt. “Maybe I’m glad you did, otherwise it wouldn’t have been me,” her head fell to his shoulder, in her orgasmic frenzy she bit him. We both knew there was some sexual attraction there though, it was just too much trouble to go through with it, and since I had decided how I was going to live my life as a sexual plaything for others it made it all the more difficult to commit to anything I might have to break off suddenly if someone from Club Gomorrah got in contact with me. Plus it had been a while science asian we saw each other and I was mindful that she might ask me out now that I was free. Just remember that she really gets off on it. I couldn't help it. And then he handed me a tube of lube. I made myself oriental a cup of coffee and sipped it outside while reading a book with the warm morning sunlight on my skin. “I've never seen one that big.” She looked Hairy Girls Fucking up to my face, she was so close that I bent down and kissed her lips. However, I had to give the class some credit – the teacher was fantastic. Had she really just been sitting in her boss' office letting him look at her bra and panties? I kept rubbing her back and began SLOWLY moving her shirt MILF up. Hell she even had a remote for her laptop. I tend to view this "trigger-spot" area of mine as being the male version of the "G-spot" area inside of a female's japanese vagina; which by the way, also just happens to be located directly on her urethral "tube," just like my "trigger spot" is located on mine . Go figure.} She stepped into her dress, pulling it up her body not even bothering with her bra. I pushed back hard as he thrust. You’d remain a slave for, I don’t know, fifteen or twenty years. • Mental There was obviously a primitive part of her physiology that was making her enjoy this fucking. “David, thank you for hiring them. Robert could clearly hear her juices on the video.