Major General’s Smart and Gorgeous Wife

The trees are now surrounded by the smell of clouds, no irritability in their hearts, they are already in a state of semi confusion that is fast asleep, and their brains are a little short.

To be honest, she's half-dreaming half-wake now, otherwise the trees should have found out how to count her abs to where?

Wine and guts and sleep have the same effect?

Anyway, the trees are confused now, and the audacity is surprising. No, she's vaguely brave. Don't you know anything about it?

Cloud Ting withstood the urge of repression, like a leopard, tight, staring dead at the trees.

He was a normal man, carrying a woman he liked, and his lawful wife.

She was holding him, her face resting on his chest, and her fingers were lifting his valley to its roots.

It feels like shit.

Most fatally, the trees seemed to feel a little heavy breathing, and the pink little face stood up and looked at the clouds with curiosity.

On a dark night, her eyes were like two sparkling gems, attracting all his eyes.

Cloud Ting stretched her hand to drag the head of the tree, lowered her head, and rolled her hot lips slightly over her forehead, nose and cheeks.

The trees feel a little strange, and I want to make a little noise.

But her lips began to light up, and he began to attack indefinitely, intertwining her lips and tongues, like a vicious battle, hot, fierce, endless, like to burn the last nerve of reason of man.

The trees were so soft in the arms of the clouds, the tighter he held them, and felt the tender, sometimes tidal attack on her lips. She was afraid that this strange and familiar feeling ignited the little flame in her heart.

She also wants nothing, she wants to be soft in his arms, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be old, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft, she wants to be soft,

She doesn't want to think about whether or not she should or not, maybe she would, because her body is honest and every inch of her skin is yelling hot and wanting to be loved by him.

But her heart was scared, more and more, especially after his lips and tongue as a gun plundered in and out of her mouth, causing a panic and chestnut stimulus, the trees were especially scared.

She opened her eyes and looked quietly at the man in front of her.

Is she gonna give herself to him? Does he love her? What exactly has happened to them in the past? Does she want to have a baby for him?

Yunting's hand restlessly reached into the wooded collar, skilfully untying the two buttons and roughly burning the palm of his hand.

The trees were only hot, and they were all hot, like fish lacking water, and they were choking on heat, and they were going crazy.

His touch clearly made her feel hotter, but a little cooler and more comfortable. This feeling of panic drove away the slight sleepiness of the trees, and she seemed to wake up.

But Yunting's kiss, with French romantic skills, pushed the layer forward, and quickly drowned her consciousness.

Nor do trees know why they're doing this, as if they were born. He was also responding enthusiastically.

She had to respond enthusiastically to make him bolder. A rough pair of hands, stretched from below into the wooden clothes, rubbing on her back.

Those hands are like lighters. Take the fire wherever you touch it.

The woods almost collapsed in consciousness, as if they had all fallen into this heat.