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“Shut up you encouraged him to do this” mom said.She kneeled down and went closer to him. She slowly started stroking his dick. Hari was moaning. I was waiting to get a chance. Then she wrapped his dick with her lips and slowly started sucking it. Hari was moaning loudly now.“Honey, please stop! He’s our son” dad said.Mom didn’t even respond to him. Hari wrapped her using his legs and brought her even closer to him. He started taking control of mom. He held her head with his right hand and started mouth-fucking her. After some time, he let her go. Mom was breathing heavily and she turned towards me, “Come on, son. Join us”.I went close to her and removed my pants and underwear. She started sucking mine. Hari got up from the sofa and made her stand in the doggy style. I was sitting on the sofa. Mom was sucking my dick while Hari was licking her pussy. Hari tore her panty and inserted his dick inside her. Mom left out a huge moan. He then tore her bra and squeezed her melons and that. Their parents had insisted they attend college. Their parents assisted them with expenses too so when Sam’s parents graduated from college and went to work they did not have too large a student loan to pay off. Sam’s mother Flower (Daisy was her given name and she HATED it) had majored in Psychology and Sociology. His father Todd had taken a degree in Business Administration. Like many young people of that generation Todd and Flower had tried some of the recreational drugs. By the time they were in college though they had eschewed the harder drugs. Their drug of choice was alcohol with a little Grass or Mary Jane on occasion. Shortly before graduating college they even stopped smoking. Their alcohol consumption declined until they were what would be called moderate drinkers. Todd and Flower lived their philosophy of love and caring. When they made a friend they would do anything for them if necessary. They helped strangers whenever they could if they felt they were kindred spirits..
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There was an unwonted light in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again, ‘I love you!’ he said, simply. ‘Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!’ ‘Ah!’ cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart. ‘But there is something that must also be addressed,’ Fogg said somberly. ‘Yes, my dear Mr. Fogg?’ ‘What of your feelings for my servant, Passepartout?’ Aouda blushed deeply. ‘I . . . I must confess, Mr. Fogg, I do love Passepartout, as much as I love you. You know this. I will marry you, of course . . .’ ‘But what of Passepartout?’ He asked, as gently as was possible. ‘I will marry you,’ Aouda said, as tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Under those circumstances I cannot marry.

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