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He had never dared to rest for a moment since his tracker couple had stopped working near the crest of the ridge, amongst a dense cover of firs and oriental oaks, and had raced against the sun to keep Ingrid in sight. Dusk was creeping across the treetops when he caught up with her at an old herdsman’s shelter, a simple structure of planks and shingles. Again, he cursed himself for not foreseeing a loss of coverage in the mountain borders; since leaving her boudoir that Sunday morning he had trailed her by anything up to a day, entirely reliant on signals emitted from the device hidden in the perineum piercing he had left her with. There was no real danger that he was being followed himself, but some instinct had compelled him to use all his counter-surveillance techniques; he had paid for travel and accommodation in cash and under various names, never following Ingrid’s route too directly and making a long and involved detour when he knew she was safely embarked on that sixty-hour ferry trip. Of course, she had boarded the ferry using a false identity and her hair had been dyed a light brown somewhere along the way – much the same shade that Eva’s hair had been. She wore a beige hijab and used yet another name to buy a rail ticket to the interior - then he had been obliged to follow her more closely as she hiked into the mountains, falling back on the hunting skills his uncles had taught him as a boy. In any case, he knew he indian was back on course because she had been in and out of the hut several times now, fetching firewood and water and hanging her equipment up to dry. He put down his binoculars confident that she was settling in for the night. They were probably a few kilometres inside Waldenstein, he reflected with some satisfaction. Everything was going to plan. The moon shone brightly that night and Pavel placed his feet carefully as he moved silently towards the cabin. She had big left her jacket hanging outside to air, confident that there would be no passers-by in these desolate hills, and he checked the pockets with brisk efficiency. There were few personal papers – all false – but there was a hikers’ map of the Waldenstein uplands identical to his own with a route to the next valley marked in red ink and a circle around what the map showed to be an abandoned building, perhaps a farm. He noted the reference and replaced the chart carefully, then edged closer to the narrow window and peered inside. His training told him to retire cautiously back to cover and observe from a distance, but a deeper urge compelled him to see her in the flesh. The room was brightly lit by two lanterns and a cast iron stove. Ingrid sat cross-legged on a shaggy, black fleece, wrapped in a towel and brushing her hair with a faraway look in her eyes. Her hands moved like an automaton’s, her mind obviously elsewhere. When her routine was complete she reached to lay the brush down with her modest collection of toiletries and the towel fell away from her. Pavel drank in the sight of her superb nudity as she lay back luxuriantly on the fleece, still gazing into some unknown distance. With lazy movements, she swept a lock of hair from her face and trailed long fingers down her throat and chest to rest on her breast, squeezing gently. She spread her thighs slightly and he glimpsed the jewelled tip of the guiche he had given her glinting beneath the shaven folds of her cunt before her left hand slipped softly into her crotch and began sliding to and fro. Her breathing became a little quicker and a little deeper as her hands ranged slowly up and down her body, lingering over her nipples and clit to tug or pinch for mere moments before fluttering away again, toying with herself to prolong the excitement. She must have been in a state of intense arousal all day, he reflected, knowing that she was on the penultimate day of her journey – and pussy of her life. No sooner had this thought struck him than she slipped a hand under the sheepskin and withdrew an open clasp-knife with a gleaming, twelve-centimetre blade. She brought the weapon reverently to her lips and pressed a kiss to the bright steel, closing her eyes and licking the edge while her bosom rose and fell, and her free sex hand ranged over her abdomen towards her cunt. It was hotter than anything I've seen on Youtube or Instagram. Thank you for reading. “What’s that?” Julia gasped. I heard her say “I am a CPA, that motherfucker lied, not me, they will pull other years as well”. “You about ready Hank? Her asshole. “Nicole isn’t sex a guy! pussy People don't say no to Sarah, especially people like me. She took a second to make sure no one else was in the classroom with us. He struggled to remember what he had couple for lunch, the absurdity of such a thought lost to him as they plummeted from the sky. I said “Babe, roll over” she rolled onto her back and indian I moved between her legs, big easing my rock hard cock into her swollen,stretched and very wet pussy.