Part 1 - The Temptation

Angelina was lying in bed, examining herself in a large semicircular mirror. The house where she stayed for two months, she definitely liked. As well as the prospect of spending the summer in an unfamiliar place, on the seashore and especially yourself, do not hesitate in money.

She liked herself too. From the mirror, a pretty face looked at her, with plump lips and wide open naive eyes, which, if desired, could be so easily turned into seductively depraved. To fit well with the translucent peignoir she found in the bedroom. Perhaps it was a good plan. Taking a sip of wine, Angelina reached out to the beautician, took out a pencil from there and, sitting in front of the mirror, let down, not sparing, a good amount of black eye and eyebrow. It was so much better. Now the aggressive depraved cat looked at her, which could and did hurt. Yes, and to the bedroom, she now "fit" much more. Like the house.

The house was strange. He was old and rather small, but it was immediately apparent that past masters, whoever they were, clearly preferred dark old Gothic, with rough brick walls, black velvet and candles in so intimate scattered throughout the cast-iron candlesticks. Even the kitchen, equipped with the latest technology, was clearly a place where before and a lot of delicious pigs roasted whole pigs on the spit of a large fireplace. Such a house was suitable hostess, dressed in a black, strict, maybe even a leather dress, in high heels and with a whip in hand, and a cigarette in another.

Hmm ... probably because of the wine. Looking at the old, slightly moldy label, Angelina looked around guiltily and, for the thousandth time making sure that she was alone, dared to take a big mouthful from the neck. From the consciousness of her own shamelessness, she squeezed her legs, suddenly feeling like a hot wave passed through her body, reaching a peak where she suddenly wanted to dip her finger and move it over the wet hot lips that nobody had caressed for so long Also, like she never wore a leather dress, and never held anything worse than a wicker twig. Yes, and she smoked only occasionally, mostly when she was very worried.

A thousand first time looking around, Ajelina splashed herself again and again began to critically examine herself in the mirror. Elastic breasts under the laces of the negligee, shameless little nipples who cheekily protruded, as if begging outside. Or demanded to be touched. As if inadvertently, ashamed of herself, she ran her hands over them, slightly holding and squeezing them between her fingers. The reflection in the mirror, intensified by the flickering light of the candle flame, suddenly prompted her to a thought, from which her whole body froze for a second in sweet shock. Hesitating, she stretched out her hand to a cosmetic bag and took out a lipstick. Alo-red. Looking at her reflection, she bared her breasts and ran cold lipstick over hot, swollen nipples. As if this was not enough, with a decisive movement, she did not regret her lipstick, and, taking a thorough sip, looked at the mirror. Now she was much more like a real hostess. Confident, depraved and lustful master of this mysterious castle and his body.

To confirm this thought, Angelina once again slightly jerked off her nipples, looking at herself in the mirror. Probably the truth was to blame the wine, because suddenly she was not at all ashamed of herself, painted as the last prostitute, sitting in front of a mirror in open lace and playing with her breasts. On the contrary, through the pleasant noise in her head, she suddenly wanted to smoke, and maybe also to do something depraved and bad. The bad. Very bad.

Finishing the last drop of wine and bringing her chest to the chest, when any touch immediately surrendered to the already wet panties, Angelina decided to torture herself some more. Especially since she remembered exactly that somewhere in one of the rooms she saw a pack of cigarettes. Similarly, she even lay on some chest of drawers. Taking a candle with her and for some reason a bottle, she opened the bedroom door, and, listening just in case, went into the next room. In my opinion it was some part of the dining room, because such massive cabinets could contain only family silver or probably porcelain. The pack lay where it should have been. On a small tray, along with matches and a shaped ashtray in the form of an open heavy cast-iron flower, which for some reason seemed to be very similar to widely divorced sex lips ... Lit up and stroking her pussy with one hand, she went down the corridor by the door. Opening it and once again surprised at the house where nothing was locked, Angelina went inside.

No, she was definitely not here. It was a small chapel, so small that there was just a tiny altar with twisted candlesticks in the corners. A stone statue of some kind of saint, made in full size, with wide open arms, stood near the wall. Angelina admired her for some time, until suddenly the whole meaning of what was happening reached her. Here she stands here, in the middle of the night, with a bottle of cigarettes in one hand, the other deep in her pants stroking wet lips and a swollen clitoris, in the chapel in front of an unknown saint! The most frightening thing was that, because of the fact that she was burned with shame, her finger instinctively only began to stroke her hungry pussy even faster, and as if inadvertently made his way deep into the vagina. Angelina's eyes clouded over, and she exhaustedly sat down right on the altar, spread her legs and stuck the second. The touch of cold marble to a soft ass led her to what a delight that, not holding back, she lifted herself and pressed herself against her even more. In a frantic rhythm, she jerked herself, occasionally clutching her breasts and poddrachivaya painted nipples.

The orgasm began impermissibly quickly, and for a moment it seemed to her that instead of condemning, the statue smiled at her. But she already wanted more. Then she went to the statue and looked into her eyes. "Like?" She asked coquettishly, opening the peignoir. "Come here, my dear, now I will show you something." She pressed herself against the statue, as if trying to feel her stony body and especially her chest with her breasts, hugged her and kissed her on the lips. “I see what I like. It's better than a candle in your honor to light, right, my good? ". Saying this, she began to rub against the statue, simultaneously again playing with her finger. And here her eyes suddenly fell on one of the candles, which seemed to purposely resemble a member of decent size. Grasping her, Angelina licked her lips, and just in case, first pressed the candle to the lips of the statue. “Now I’ll give you a candle ... You want it too, really, my pretty one?” She whispered in a asking tone and, no longer delaying a new pleasure, put one foot on the altar and, covering her eyes from pleasure, literally planted herself on her . "Oh, bitch, oh, my darling," she whispered, leading her into the depths of her cunt, so that her chest repeated the beat, pressed to the statue. “Oh, you feel sorry for your mouth so high, otherwise I would give you to suck my nipples.” Angelina was quickening her pace, not paying attention to either the stone smeared with lipstick, or the bottle lying on the floor, or her cries. She took out a candle and poked her in the lips of the statue, took her ass and played with her finger, mother and kissed her passionately, until suddenly the long-awaited wave of pleasure caught her screaming at the whole house.Convulsively clinging to the deadly cold dress, as if trying to break the stone, she slowly sank to the floor from the candles sticking out of the raped pussy, and only sobbed from time to time, until she fell asleep, curled up on the floor at the altar.

Part 2 - New Toys

She woke up late, somehow lazily. Uncertainly, she stuck her head out from under the blanket and froze. On the night table stood a luxurious bouquet of roses, dark black luxurious roses, like black velvet. Angelina looked at him in perplexity for a couple of seconds, ...