The bathroom The door barks its poor lubrication and together with the sound of steps the strange whispering of voices.

The bathroom The door barks its poor lubrication and together with the sound of steps the strange whispering of voices. Mosaics have a few cleanliness believable times in these places. The abundance of toilet paper and the bolt that fit with absolute precision in the groove, accuse a prestige that descends through the restaurant's bathroom to the impeccable attention of the waiters. It makes you want to stay a life by pulling out and introducing the steel pipe, less until it falsies or the pressure is so strong that everything seems to go back to the Normal. Toilets load hooded with their respective boards. Nechu with his chick raised and his knees pulling the pancha tries to pee in gallop position; just out of habit and not because the place really deserves it. The first drip falls and is interrupted by the soft entry of the two women. It senses that there is not one for the noise I disappear from the shoes but she's not sure they're a pair either. Palanquea from the bladder being useless the effort to finish pissing. It matches annoying clothes, opens the compartment handle with pleasure and listens to a groan that bounces like echo and re-installs in another more fluted one near the rings. Close the door with urbanity and in what lasts the amazement try to decipher the constant murmurs that invade the entire bathroom. It is lifts the skirt again and sits on the brightness of the board. This is ridiculous -- think I go out fast and ready --. Before taking the shipment to flee one of the many words takes shape, and instantly the next; Are edibles and carry in the melosity of their teeth the desire squeezed from a long time ago. Just words torn apart with the innate protection of no be heard not by themselves. Nechu is about to cough on deliberately, carraspear with the false disguise of deaf innocence. It's not a bad option to pull the chain or lift the board; something that puts notice and breaks with your transformed square unintentionally in his little hiding place. He doesn't do any of this, on the contrary, rests his feet, that is, the heels of the shoes on the edge of the door and expects none of them to locate their presence. The gelatin of kisses linked to the purred leap of vowels completely change their mood. Now the intrigue of how are, their faces, their bodies, their clothes. The word of one of them gives away that it does not has more than thirty, the other holds a natural rest in the voice, it doesn't seem older in age but in experience. Thin, straight lips open in the Nechu's imagination the unknown figure. Unnoticed makeup stylizes the warm features of a vulgarly pretty face. He doesn't get to create his height or his hands, for an instant thinks of spying but does not hesitate to remain motionless. Caress your big tits and firm, the blouse releases two buttons and lets you see its cream bodice covering part of a sensably pink halo. He looks at them like he doesn't know them. Your mind is a blind skein that sharpens the rest of the senses to discover the image covered. A mouth liquefies the flow chord drunk that climbs the ceiling and is pressed into one of the spotlights that gives full over his head. One hand clinging to the toilet, the other runs the panger that looks like a floor rag macerated by his vaginal syrup. The suction to melted water ice cream that produces the shell of one in the mouth of the other, melts into the sound of the fingers that masturbate Nechu's bald clitoris. Now accommodate the tail forward, the feet follow shoes at the door while the index and the eldest play like scissors over their ancient spiral; jerks off from top to bottom and parks on every bridge of heat and then accelerate rubbing in the opposite direction. Put two in fingers up to the knuckles and leaves the ring rubbing his ass that dilates and contracts next to the groans rumbling in the bathroom. They come and go and they goes through the tits. He sucks them. The panting pinches it by hindering times the movement of his fingers. He rinses them back in his shell and paints flowing tits again. He sucks them. Grab your wallet and gummy hand trembles him as if he had loaded a bag of cement for hours; pulls out a classic deodorant to bolilla and rushed into fever pushes evicting every door of the shell, leaves it sealed and mechanically tilts it to the side and to another. He pulls it out and sucks it. He spends it all over his face... For the tits... Up your ass. He sucks it again. He sticks it to the clitoris as if a make you wish before penetrating it. Re-enter it, move it in a circle grating with the smooth lid all the walls of his shell. It makes it soft... Slowly. Now stronger... Faster. Slow down. Louder. Faster. More flow. Louder. Softer. Louder. He's a mea. It's over. Faster. Slow down. More Strong. It's over. He's a mea. It brakes... One... Two... Three... Four seconds. The body shakes evenly as if the obligatory silence will flaming him by all Muscles. Acid fluid runs down your legs that overflow in a splash lukewarm; splashing his thighs, the board, the floor, the door. Take out the deodorant of the shell and Band-Aid to two twenty without controlling the electricity that undoes its Orgasm. The two women continue to play saliva without knowing they have donated the catalogue of a masturbation. Nechu gradually tightens her skin, her husband waits for the wine sitting at a table. You can't get out, you'll have to put up with the exit at the foot of your puddle. It's not a bad idea to wet your fingers and go back to Start... Slowly... Slowly. The end I hope the girls liked a masculine look literary about masturbation. To women who want to write: Welcome