The only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife face mask

 Lower and lower went her head as the lips went underneath the scope of my mouth and jawline and appeared to attach on my throat. At that point she stopped, the only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife, and I could hear the stirring sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and I could feel the hot breath on my neck. At that point the skin of my throat started to shiver as one’s tissue does when the hand that is to stimulate it approaches closer, closer. I could feel the delicate, the only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife, shuddering dash of the lips on the overly touchy skin of my throat, and the hard gouges of two sharp teeth, simply contacting and delaying there. The only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife face mask. I shut my eyes in languorous delight and paused, the only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife, held up with thumping heart. In any case, right then and there, another sensation moved through me as speedy as lightning. I was aware of the nearness of the Count, the only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife, and of his being as though lapped in a tempest of rage. As my eyes opened automatically I saw his solid hand handle the thin neck of the reasonable lady and with mammoth’s capacity move it back, the only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife, the blue eyes changed with wrath, the white teeth champing with rage, and the reasonable cheeks blasting red with energy. Yet, the Count! Never did I envision such rage and rage, even to the evil presences of the pit. His eyes were emphatically bursting. The red light in them was offensive, the only thing tougher than a trucker is a trucker’s wife, as though the flares of hell fire bursted behind them. His face was haunting pale, and its lines were hard similar to drawn wires. The thick eyebrows that met over the nose presently appeared to be a hurling bar of whitehot metal.