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Discussion : ADELE (russe - cheveux noirs)

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    Cést fini pour Adele - elle a arrete.

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    ADELE (russe - cheveux noirs)

    Age : 25 - 30 ans Langues : Allemand, Russe
    Cheveux : Noirs Longueur : Longs
    Taille : 1.75 m Posture : Svelte
    Piercing : Aucun Tattoo : Aucun
    Seins : B Vrais? : Bien entendu
    Couleur des yeux : Gris Risque de recidive :
    Prix : 130 euro Temps : 60 minutes
    Service : Uitstekend
    Extras : ci-bas


    It happened on the German Day of Reunion, now nearly two weeks ago.
    An attractive young woman clad in a gold, red and black dress floats back and forth between the theke and the room she just delivered her services in.
    I watch her - thick black hair, beautiful curves, moving gracefully, with a mischievous look on her face.

    I hope none of the other contenders will sweep her away to an appointment but I'm in luck: she sits herself down opposite me and sighs.
    We start a conversation. She calls herself Adele. Words come effortlessly between us.

    She gets up to get me another drink - I watch her leave and think to myself: Adele must henceforth always get up and leave and get me stuff (anything!), so I can watch her back, the movement of her buttocks, her strong legs, the sideways glance she throws me - feeling me watching her.

    She comes back with my drink.
    She must always come back - with that unmistakable promise of heaven and hell.
    She must always come back - with that smile on her face, and the gentle sway of her boobs.

    When she bends over to hand me my drink I look into her eyes and all I see is the valley between her magnificent breasts. Our fingers touch and it sends shivers down my spine.

    After about half an hour of chitter and chatter, I believe I know what needs to be done and I ask Adele to find us a room - if she's OK with that.

    She gets up - oh hell - here we go again... Man: look at her go...
    I imagine her naked and sweaty. Under, beside and on top of me.
    She comes back - with a smile. And half an hour of extra time - all rooms are taken.

    * * *

    Here I am, sitting in the recliner in room 1, 2, 3 - whatever.
    Adele stands before me.

    My hands slip from her waist to her hips over the smooth fabric of her dress down to the seam, then back up under the fabric over the edge of her stay-ups, all the way up to where heaven begins.
    My fingers (I had nothing to do with it, officer, really) hook over the edge of the panties and I pull them down.
    She leans over to me.
    Her lips latch onto mine.
    She starts undoing my shirt buttons.

    In less than no time, we're both naked, under the shower, and back in the room, on the bed.
    I lay her down, caress her back with a little left-over body lotion I found on a side-table.
    But unlike most women I know, Adele does not surrender. None of that romantic, sentimental nonsense today: Adele needs action.

    Adele is in a hurry.


    And I have all the time in the world.
    ...

    Enough of this. Just imagine the rest.

    Suffice to say that she's as clever as the devil but ten times as pretty and that the room was hotter than a brothel on nickel night.

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