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Sexualized account of, well, the Doors, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, really. In any event, late '60s/early '70s rock gods.
In the days that followed it was constantly in the minds of all of them and became, to Rita, a minor obsession. Though, there were no further occurrences of the sort that had taken place in Seattle, the possibility that such a thing might happen again was always present and it kept them busy trying to find a solution. The answer to their problem presented itself during the last week of January. Glancing through one of the trade papers to keep an eye on the sales of their last single, Sam noticed
clung to him feverishly as he cupped her heavy boobs in his strong capable hands. Testimony of her heat, her nipples went hard and as he moved them back and forth with his fingers, Miki leaned back and sighed. Seeing her heat, her beauty and her availability, Sam lost all control. With a hard tug, he pulled her slacks down to her knees. Miki moaned and smiled as she felt his fingers open the lips of her hungry cunt and begin to probe. Her fluids came freely under the black man's caresses, and
hoped that the musicians could do their part quickly enough to permit her to appear at the festival, which was now less than a month away. “All right,” Rita barked, “maybe we're pushing it too hard.” The musician looked at her with expressions ranging from sympathy to disgust. They had been in the studio for over six hours that day and had so far failed to please her even once. In her frantic drive to make good at the festival, she was driving them to work at the same fierce rate that she set
Wendy's full, round breasts and plump buttocks. Her light brown hair hung to her waist Peter let her continue her story for a few minutes and then interrupted her. “Come here,” he ordered. Wendy looked over to him and smiled. “What do you have in mind?” “Come here and find out.” He quickly shrugged off his shirt and started to remove his slacks. The girl's eyes widened in anticipation. While she watched eagerly, he slid out of the rest of his clothing. “It's beautiful,” she gulped, eyeing his
the world of finance and the world of the young, who were his consumers. Fashionably longish without being radical, his hair curled slightly over the collar of his shirt. As she continued her scrutiny, he looked up and smiled. “Do I meet your approval?” he asked. “That's yet to be seen. Let's just say you haven't failed yet. Where are we going, anyway?” Muttering a curse at some adversary, the cabbie swerved the car into an open lane and stomped the accelerator hard. The sudden burst of speed