In an amazing display of accuracy for street gangs, there was one and only one fatality, Cynthia “Momma Ling” Davidson. Two customers were injured by flying glass and one received a minor bullet wound in the leg, but Momma Ling’s Beauty Shop and Drug Emporium was permanently closed. Evidently, Cynthia Davidson wasn’t her real name either because officials could amateurs discover no valid driver’s license... or next of kin... or place of birth... or anything else. All of the equipment was evidently paid for, so once the police released the crime scene, the lease was voided out by the owners of the strip mall and it was just a matter of Stan cleaning everything out and making it look like Momma Ling’s had never existed. The one problem was that all of the equipment had to be stored for at mature least two years in case some creditor– or relative– stepped forward to claim it. So, one of the terms of the remodeling contract was that Stan had to store the furnishings, for a monthly fee of course, for 24 months. Then it was his to dispose of party in whatever way he saw fit. Almost everything was taken apart and stored in the back of his garage at home. But the technical aspects of a self-applying spray tanning booth fascinated him. So did the possible selling price. Stan figured if he kept the booth in working order, then at the end of the two years he could sell it for at least five or six grand. The problem was that it had to be used regularly to prevent the pumps, seals, and nozzles from drying out. He thought he could just cycle it every so often, but except for the cleaning cycle, the booth was programed not to run unless a person was inside it. And whatever you put in the tubes for the tanning agent had to be just the right consistency or the program would error out. That meant using real fake tan stuff when you ran it. So, once every two months, Stan would mix up a batch of faux tan and step into the machine. The first couple times he did that, the results were, at best, mixed. Fortunately, there was also a removal cycle that sprayed a solution that would take off anything that had been applied, even days or weeks later. After one of his worst initial attempts where he made a major mistake mixing the tan colors he stepped out of the booth a deep, all-over red. “I know what I am wearing next Halloween,” he said to himself in the mirror. He carefully wrote down exactly what he had done before resetting the booth blowjob to a removal cycle. With his skin dyed a deep red, Stan figured he could wear anything... or nothing... to the next Halloween party. But he still needed a gimmick that would put it over the top. So he turned to his cousin, Mark, who worked supplying special props to the movie industry. “What you need is horns,” Mark said. “But they have to appear only when you want to show that you are horny.” He then laughed at his own joke. Stan just scowled at him, but Mark said, “No, seriously. I’ve got these horns that glue to your hair and scalp. You just comb the rest of your hair over the little nubs. When you want them, just press on either one of them and they pop up slowly. You can make it look like you are just pulling your cumshot hair out of the way. On one hand, her pussy was like magic to him; he omitted the thought as it was only distracting from the point. He began to mention being a top and how he loved party doggy style. She told him everything, starting at the very beginning. We talked about sex often back then, and she told me way too much about her sexual experiences, fantasies and fears. “Sorry, I tend to blather when I’m sober.” There were only a couple walking back towards the path leading to the parking lot as we climbed the small incline to the lake. My cheeks burned. This incestuous rush shot through me. Mercedes smelled tart. It was monumental blowjob the last time we attempted amateurs this.} C xxx’ came mature the reply a few minutes later, I laughed out loud at cumshot the message, obviously sent by Chantelle. “You are such a sweet and loveable son Paddu.. He called to inform Mom of the delay, but she was in the bathroom with romantic music blasting from her iPod, and the call went to voicemail. Once again the words are stuck in my throat. ...your daughter must be obeyed... “Tammy, what’s going on?” Dave asked, alarmed by her behavior. I dropped my cock to start pounding it into her sopping twat savagely, the salty cum she was squirting making my hard fucking almost frictionless!