Obessesion is a terrible thing read my novel
The Lady Flarice’s Home
Touching her articles, at ease, I saw the wooden floors shone throughout Lady Flarice’s house. Fine-rugs with cheerful colors embellished the wood-stained boards. A cerise couch rich in texture was in the center of the room, a tint matching the drapes was woven into the fabric. Lady Flarice would be at Kruger Engineering for several hours, it would be enough time to ferret into her private belongings. Finding the Lady Flarice’s Journal, she described her interactions. Rushing into the bathroom, my attention riveted to the linen basket.
“Search for her panties,” the Declarer said.
Discovering the vulva-cloth, sniffing the garment, I squealed, I positioned the smallclothes on my manhood, and I ejaculated in the panties. Eating some food, satisfied with the time in her house, I visualized, concerning the elevation of the hem of the Lady Flarice’s pure white silk gown, her honeyed-place concealed in pure white silk-lace, and my beautiful male-weapon embedded in Lady Flarice’s female-part.