How he hated this Sunday each year, hated the march of veterans, but was drawn in some morbid fascination annually. Each year, he observed the file of...crippled soldiers, long since passed their usefulness to a society, doing it's best to forget for the other three hundred and sixty four days, except in the glorified films of heroic deeds with John Wayne, or another popular actor, leading a squad of crack troopers into an impossible confrontation, overwhelming odds, somehow beaten at the loss of. Rob smashed into her as hard as he could, mesmerised as her jug's wildly danced to his tune. All the time Jane vocalised her approval between grunts. "Arrgghh, that's it, aarrgghh, fill my cunt aarrgghh with cock, aarrgghh, fuck meee hard, aarrgghh, slam my cunt aarrgghh you bastard". After a few minutes Rob lowered her legs, Jane wrapped them around his waist. Taking his weight on his elbows Rob leaned in and went to work on her amazing tit's with his hands and mouth. Steve had told him, she. More

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