"No!"
"Don't, Wu Song!"
Wang Damei began to plead.
"Oh, Secretary's wife, are you begging me?"
Wu Song teased as he kneaded Wang Damei's snowy buttocks, each time revealing her large honey hole, stretched by Wu Song's rolling pin.
At this moment, that spot was muddy, with streams of whitish liquid enveloping the rolling pin, making it remarkably smooth for Wu Song.
Honestly, Wang Damei's little hole wasn't only tight but also very lubricated.
Doing it felt really good.
Sigh, it's a pity Wu Dalin wasted it all these years.
Instead, Wu Song got the advantage.
"Yes, Wu Song, I'm begging you, don't send it out." Wang Damei no longer held her stance, lowering herself and pleading with Wu Song.
"Oh? Why should I give you face?" Wu Song continued, showing no sign of stopping.
Wang Damei trembled again under Wu Song's thrusts.
