At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. “I can’t keep away from you. You’re tired, of course. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. As he felt the threshold of soft wetness he froze and said, “Lucy, are you sure?” She whispered, “Yes,” and guided the top of his penis into her vagina. Beyond that everything was nebulous.
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