Pussy’s hair had grown

Pussy’s hair had grown

Pussy’s hair had grown from Brittany. She entertained them in an alternation of eccentric cuts always connoted Cold-Wave and classic smoothing that she could keep in long hair with or without ponytail. That evening, she had pulled her hair like that, revealing her sensual neck and her ears still adorned with necklaces and metal loops, many and sighted. Her makeup redone in express but with talent highlighted her beautiful blue eyes with subtle shades of gray eyelids.

His lips were luscious and appetizing. Her top was a sleeveless blue satin camisole, more like a nightie than anything else. Because if it was not transparent, it showed without difficulty the breasts of my companion, who had benefited from his not so old period of maternity. Not only was the material of the slim garment marrying the asperities of her areolas, but every change of position could allow an interesting view of her chest, always tanned.

At her feet, Pussy had opted for her usual black stiletto heels, which combined with her features and size to bring her in tune with the Flemish public of La Rocca. But it was at the level of her bottom garment that she had reserved a divine surprise.

I knew the talents and the taste of my wife for the creation of clothes sometimes subtly erotic. His lingerie was also known to me. But I did not see coming the very simple but very provocative black lycra leggins, asymmetrically slashed, that she had “trafficked” a few days before: the right side of the mid-thigh to the hip ( revealing the absence of panties or thong), the left calf also very visible.

But it took a little more insistence to distinguish the indecency of the garment.
Walking towards my friends and I, Pussy freaked out our senses and her footsteps allowed her to hide what she wanted to hide … for now.

It was once before us three, a few meters from the entrance to the disco, that I became aware of some details. First, in the semi-darkness of the Antwerp night, it took a little emphasis on my wife’s lower abdomen to distinguish that there was curiously a slight difference in appearance on 2 or 3 cm high and only a few millimeters wide.

And it is realizing that she had for a few weeks and for the first time in 6 years maintained a very fine pubic fleece that I understood the game of my companion. Yes, there was a slit in her leggins, which gave a glimpse of the thin band of hair that Pussy had let push and shaved, just above her clit.

This vision made me look alternately my friends, my wife and her crotch, and I realized that they had come to see the same thing as me.
But it was at the time of the search by La Rocca’s vigorous vigilantes that I understood-and the others with me-that the cleft of the leggin did not stop at the bottom of my wife’s thin fleece.

The hands of the black colossus who palpated Pussy highlighted that each parcel of his legs were either bare, or noticeable by the molding aspect of the garment.

That her breasts were erected, as much by the touch as by the caress of the spring breeze. And forced to part the legs to facilitate the work of the watch, Pussy showed a very thin band of pink flesh from his fleece to an invisible place between her thighs. It is only from behind that we were certain that this opening was to stop somewhere between her vulva and her buttocks fessier, because at least back, it was perfectly perceived that the elastic fabric emphasized her buttocks and s’ sank between the two globes.

It is therefore a little vain to try to describe what could be the state of excitement of my companions and me once entered La Rocca. Very quickly, the crowded and already moist crowd did not allow to see what the footsteps of Pussy showed to everyone.

Moreover, the presence of gogo-dancers of both sexes on the podiums of the disco inevitably attracted the attention. At the sound of music obviously rhythmic, engaging, captivating, these dancers and dancers very bare took lascivious poses that fascinated. To the point that I almost forgot my own companion visibly decided to burst and reconnect with the moments of pure sexual provocation she could trigger.

Fabrice and Stephane, they had not forgotten. After gobbling all four ecsta easily accessible in this box that I had just bought, they had engaged in dance, in trance, with Pussy. Shared between the visual tasting of a particular dancer who was making a noticeable effect and that of my friends closer and closer to my girlfriend, I began to hover and had a smug smile.

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