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" Joan felt the bra gently knead her breasts, and brush her nipples rhythmically. "It would be the last time, wouldn't it? I mean, I, uh, won't feel like this, again...as a man."The bra said, "Physiologically, no. It will be your last fond memory as your time as a woman."The bra had said the wrong thing; Joan's resistance wanted to return, saying, "I doubt it. I have no fond memories."The bra offered a temptation, "A little posthypnotic suggestion, and you'll never be bothered by post-coital. Put money in her jar.” Then the shelf under the pictures had glass cherry bottles on it with matching numbers one through twelve. There were already one-dollar, five-dollar, and even ten-dollar bills in the jars. Hell even I voted.I went over to Jill and asked her about the contest.She replied, “It was something that I thought about last night. I figured that if I told you about it that you might say no. So I just went ahead and did it!”I said, “Okay! But what to hell is the contest about, who. Now his penis was totally in my throat gagging me with discomfort. I spit a lot on his cock and started massaging it again. Now it was his turn to make me enjoying.I sat on the sofa and he was sitting on the knees between my stretched legs. He just started removing my hairs from the hairy pussy. His penis was still erected like a pistol. I wanted it very soon in my pussy, but he was up to something else. He found the pussy hole. Inserted his little finger and opened the pussy lips with his both. He had a death grip on the hand rail and seemed to have trouble getting his legs to work right. She told him she was going to call an ambulance, but he told her no, he wasn’t in any pain and just wanted to have his breakfast. So she helped him the rest of the way down the stairs and he had his breakfast.When he tried to return to his room he was completely unable to get up even the first step, so they called an ambulance for him. A couple hours later she called the hospital to see how he was.
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