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My wife was dressed as a Maid of Honor from old English period, I suppose you would say. She just wore a silk dress from the Thrift Store and had her hair done up with small flowers. She looked more like a hippie than someone from Old England, but it was a last-minute costume choice. The dress did not fit too well. It had a wide and low-cut neckline and the dress was a bit too large for her. She pinned it in several places to keep it on and went to the festival. I did not see her in it prior to. Brown hair, blue eyes, five-eleven and 150 pounds pretty much covers it.I had decided to leave earlier than usual because one of the local stations had started showing all the old Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes movies and I'd gotten hooked on the series watching The Hound of the Baskervilles the week before."Anybody need a ride?" Since some of the kids didn't have wheels—or even licenses, in a couple of cases—it was only polite to offer a lift to anyone who didn't feel like walking."I could use. ."He had paid no attention to her and she had heard the metallic sound of his zipper opening. She had tried to pull away with a suddenly gripping panic, but his finger between her thighs had been probing up into her wet vagina, sending electric thrills of rippling pleasure up through her that froze her to the seat. She had not been able to move for the moment as the delightful sensations raced around inside her body, and he had taken this to mean she had surrendered her will to his abuse. He. She rested her head on my legs a cried harder than I’ve ever seen any woman cry. I made no attempt to soothe her. I sat there and let her go on for a while. Once she was quiet enough that I thought she could hear me, I had to get this conversation started.“As you can see, my patience is gone. I don’t want to lose it with you here. I love you too much. I suggest you pull it together, go sit on the damn couch, and tell me right now what’s going on.”She looked and saw just how on the edge I was. I.
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