There was music in the kitchen, too. Her mother stood at the counter, carving off a slice of bread that would soon join the sausages. The woman sang a... she worked, not just to see, but because she enjoyed it. A song that reminded Phyre of the morning, likely because that was always the time she heard it. She had no idea what the words or sounds meant. Nor did she understand those of her father when he chose to join in. The words were not her own, so they were not hers to know. Phyre chose not. Her fingers dug into the cheeks of my ass, urging me on, as if trying to pull me in deeper each time I plunged into her. As I was pumping Barbara methodically, pushing my cock all the way in, her husband Wesley was having a fit Linda on the other hand applauded as I slowly pulled out to the head, and then, almost brutally, rammed it back in so hard and deep that Barbara grunted and our flesh made slapping noises as our bodies connected. Pausing, I turned to Wesley and said, “A gentleman. More

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