”She moaned around my dick, the humming pleasure shooting down to my balls.“Yeah, you do,” I groaned. “Just a married whore for my cum. I bet ...ou'd let me breed you. Knock you up and make a cuckold out of your husband for my cum.”She nodded, whimpering. She nursed with hunger, drool running down her chin. I groaned, my jeans slipping off my hips and falling down around my ankles, my belt buckle rattling. Of course, I was wearing my belt buckle.I would wear that every day for the rest of my. Mrs. P would not have come here when Marcie was here. The only time it could have been would have been August, after the wedding. She would hardly be wearing a slip, would she?” I had been caught in a lie. Embarrassed, I didn’t resist when she pushed me away. But she didn’t reach for her dress, perhaps I still had a chance to salvage something from my muffed attempt to bend her over the back of the couch. After all, as she so often commented, ‘now that we’re fucking.’ “It wasn’t Mrs. P, she. More

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