Chapter 2

Dan spent last weekend up at his parents’ house in the suburbs. It was one of those dead weekends. Many of his friends were out of town, working, or too tired to go out. On Friday before he left, he called Steve Morgan’s cell phone again in one last-ditch effort to try to get something going but was greeted only by voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message, threw some clothes in a backpack, and drove up to his parents’ house.

They were surprised to see him lounging on their couch in the television room when they returned from a dinner party later that evening but were nonetheless thrilled at the prospect of having their baby boy home for the weekend. Dan joined his parents Saturday for breakfast and helped his mom around the yard with what was left of the morning. When he checked his voicemail around lunchtime, Steve had called. “What’s up? It’s Steve. Got your first message and saw you called again. Sorry for not getting back to you. I’m up in the ‘burbs this weekend. My parents are having an engagement party for Kari and her fiancé tomorrow, so I came up this morning to hang out with them. I’ll give you a call next week.”

“Hmph,” Dan said to himself, deleting the message. Before he and his dad left for the club for golf and a few drinks, he tried Steve again.

“Hello?”

“Steve?”

“Yeah. Dan. What’s goin’ on?”

“Same as you, my friend. I’m in Winnetka for the weekend.”

Steve laughed. “How funny. What are you up here for?”

“Nothing goin’ on downtown, so I got out for the weekend.”

“Yeah, I thought it was going to be kind of a dead weekend, so I came up today instead of tomorrow just to hang out.”

“Let’s grab a few drinks later. I’m going to the club with my dad in a little bit. Why don’t you meet us there around six or so.”

“Well, I’m having dinner with my parents tonight. We’re just going over to Hackney’s, the one on Lake. Why don’t you meet us over there after the club? We’ll have dinner with my parents and maybe go to Meier’s for a few drinks.”

Dan paused. He hadn’t seen Mrs. Morgan since their coupling in that suite at the Ritz so many months ago. He recalled the event vividly: the parting of the sexy top to reveal her artificially inflated tits; the smoothness of her shaved cunt as the wine bottle slipped between her slick labia; those plush red lips wrapped around his thick cock, saliva dripping down the shaft.

Absently, Dan reached for and readjusted his thickening cock. “Um.”

“Come on! It won’t be that bad. My parents are pretty cool. Mom’s mellowed out a lot,” Steve chided him.

“I know,” Dan responded defensively. “It’s not that. I just don’t want to intrude on a family thing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just me and my parents. Kari and Jake won’t be there, and Betsy doesn’t get in until tomorrow morning. We’ll be there around seven, maybe seven-thirty. See you there,” Steve finished, clicking off.

Dan stood there a minute, holding his phone. More images raced through his head. His best friend’s mother bent over the bed, his cock thrusting into her from behind; her bald cunt lowering itself onto his shaft, each inch disappearing into her slowly; her blond hair spread out on the comforter, his cock squished between those massive tits, her manicured nails and wedding and engagement rings just inches from his leaking cock.

But this could be awkward. How would Mrs. Morgan react when he appeared at Hackney’s? Would she be embarrassed? Sheepish? Or would she play it off with her typical bitchiness? Probably the latter. ‘On second thought, this could be fun,’ Dan thought to himself. He shrugged internally, and then bounded up the steps to his old bedroom, rummaged through his closet for shorts and a shirt that wouldn’t upset the golf pro, and changed.

Outside the club, Dan gave his dad a quick hug before jumping in his car. “Say hi to the Morgans for your mother and me, and be safe. If you drink too much, give us a call. One of us will come and get you.”

“No problem, Dad. You guys have fun tonight. I’ll probably be late, so I’ll see you in the morning.” Dan turned the key in the BMW’s ignition, backed out of the parking space, and drove up to Lake Street, then over the Edens Expressway to Hackney’s. He was running a little late; it was almost eight when he pulled into the parking lot. He saw Mrs. Morgans’ Range Rover and pulled into an open stall two spaces down.

Entering the restaurant, he quickly found them in one of the side rooms; they and another couple were the only patrons in that room. As he approached the table, Mr. Morgan rose, extending his hand.

“Good to see you, Dan,” he said heartily, vigorously pumping Dan’s hand. Mr. Morgan was a tall, well-built man, graying at the temples. His grip was firm and confident. His cheeks were a little red, hinting at the fact that he had already downed a few cocktails.

“You, too, Mr. Morgan. It’s been a while, huh?” he said, circling the table toward Mrs. Morgan. He flashed an innocent smile her way. She returned it with a fake one.

“Too long, kid,” he heard behind him. “You oughta come see us more often.”

“Hi, Mrs. Morgan,” Dan said with a broad smile. “You look fantastic as ever.”

“Thank you, Dan,” she responded. The sarcasm dripped from her tongue, or so he thought. Perhaps he was just reading into things, knowing the things about her he knew, knowing that her husband and son didn’t know them.

After giving her a chaste hug, but one that lingered just a little longer than necessary, Dan sat, his back to the wall. Steve sat across from him, Mr. Morgan to his left, Mrs. Morgan to his right.

“Let’s get the waiter over here and get you a drink,” Steve suggested, turning around and signaling the waiter. When he appeared, Dan ordered a drink and the Morgans began placing their dinner order. Dan added a simple cheeseburger to the order.

They engaged in small talk for a while, waiting for their meals, getting caught up with each other. How’s work? Same old, same old. Any girlfriends? Here and there. How are your parents doing? Great; they asked me to say hello. That sort of thing. Though careful not to stare too long in Mrs. Morgan’s direction, Dan could not help but drink in her beauty.

Throughout their conversation, she twirled a wineglass between her slender elegant fingers, tipped with a French manicure. Given the summer months, her lean, tanned and slightly freckled arms were bare to the conditioned air. Her blonde tresses were pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing teardrop-shaped platinum earrings dangling from her earlobes. Dan had never seen her hair pulled back in such a manner, but liked it; it highlighted the high cheekbones and sensuous jawline of her face. Her baby blue eyes danced from her husband to her son to her son’s best friend as the conversation flowed, pausing more often than not on the young man seated to her left.

“Don’t you agree, Donna?” she heard her husband ask.

“I’m sorry, honey. What did you say?” Mrs. Morgan raised her wineglass to her shiny red-stained lips. As she did, her wedding rings caught the light of the restaurant, sparkling despite the dimness.

“It’ll be great to have all the kids home, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, honey,” she responded, setting her empty wineglass on the table, lipstick smeared along the side of the rim closest to her. “It doesn’t happen often enough, what with Betsy living in San Francisco now.”

When their meals arrived, the conversation was reduced to a minimum as the Morgans and their guest cleared their plates. Occasionally, Dan cast a sideways glance toward Mrs. Morgan, trying to be discreet but almost groaning in his throat. The top two buttons of her white cotton oxford blouse hinted at the immense cleavage within, the fabric stretched tautly across her tits. Though it would require him to stare too long to confirm it, Dan thought he detected the slightest suggestion of thick nipples pressing through her bra, almost tenting the blouse. He shifted to relieve his discomfort.

When Mrs. Morgan finished her meal, she began to rise. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,” she pleaded and walked from the table toward the rear of the restaurant.

“Women are incredible,” Mr. Morgan intoned once she was out of earshot, taking a long pull from his scotch and soda. “If I had to go to the bathroom, I’d say, ‘Excuse me, I gotta go to the bathroom.’ But not women. They simply say ‘Excuse me.’”

Both Steve and Dan chuckled at his observation, but Dan barely paid attention. Over the top of his glass, he watched Mrs. Morgan as she strode away from them. A conservative khaki skirt that stopped three-quarters down her thighs, swooshing slightly back and forth as she moved, hid her tight little bottom. Tan, lithe legs extended from beneath the skirt, ending in a pair of Prada slingback heels.

She soon returned amidst talk of the Cubs and the White Sox and the coming football season. The table ordered another round of drinks as their light conversation continued. When the drinks arrived, Mr. Morgan took another large gulp. He must have downed two or three drinks in Dan’s presence, and that didn’t count the two or three he probably had before Dan even arrived.

“I have to go the bathroom,” he announced, standing up.

“I’ll join you, Dad,” Steve said, following his father to the bathroom.

When they were gone, Dan cleared his throat. “So,” he began confidently. “How’ve you been, Mrs. Morgan?” His eyes bore into hers as the older woman brought her wineglass to her shiny full lips. He could see wariness, uncertainty, there.

Swallowing the thick, red liquid, she responded, “Lovely, Dan. I’ve been lovely.” She paused, twirling the stem of the glass in her manicured fingers. She ignored him, her eyes focused on her fidgeting hands.

“Tell me, Mrs. Morgan, did you end up getting your asshole stretched that night?”

Dan’s brazen tongue caused her to jump. She looked behind her to see if the couple sitting nearby had heard him; thankfully, they had left sometime during the Morgans’ meal, leaving them alone in the room. When her gaze returned to the impetuous young man seated to her left, they were on fire. “Watch your mouth, Dan. Don’t think for a minute that what happened gives you the right to disrespect me like that.”

As she took another drink from her glass, Dan looked at her quizzically. “Disrespect you? I don’t disrespect you, Mrs. Morgan,” he said genuinely. He leaned forward, his right hand reaching beneath the table for her left, which rested in her lap. “Not at all. I respected you when you let me suck on your fake tits.”

Dan’s hand found hers beneath the table. When their skin touched, Mrs. Morgan pulled back, the diamond of her engagement ring scraping along his palm.

“I respected you,” Dan continued, “when you were sitting in my lap with a wine bottle shoved in your cunt.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, the malevolence obvious in her eyes.

“Yes, I respected you then, too.” He glanced toward the main part of the restaurant. Mr. Morgan and Steve had finished in the bathroom and stopped at the bar to refresh their drinks. Dan again reached for Mrs. Morgan’s hand under the table, gripping it tightly, feeling the four-carat diamond press against his palm, her long nails biting into his skin. She resisted, but it was a weak effort.

“I respected you when you had my cock trapped between those things,” he continued with a nod at the married woman’s chest. “But you know when I really respected you, Mrs. Morgan?”

She turned her head from him, breaking eye contact, and didn’t respond. She took another nervous sip of her wine, her eyes floating toward the ceiling as though she were praying that Dan would go away.

“Well, let me tell you. I respected you the most when you were bouncing around on my lap with my fingers in your pussy while I was talking to your son on the phone.”

“You are SUCH an asshole,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t think I was an asshole the last time I saw you.”

Her sparkling blue eyes were softer now, but by no means kind. “That shouldn’t have happened, Dan, and you being here like this is awkward. And then for you to sit here and say the things you just said?” She paused and shook her head, again looking to the ceiling. Her voice was barely audible: “Fucking asshole.”

“You enjoyed it, though, didn’t you Mrs. Morgan? Fucking me? Fucking someone so much younger than you? Your son’s best friend, no less?”

Mrs. Morgan again looked at Dan, and then cast a glance toward the bar. Her husband was paying for their drinks, her son beside him, laughing at something the bartender had said.

“I’m going to fuck you again, Mrs. Morgan. You can be sure of that.”

“Stop, Dan.”

Dan paused, considering. “Tell you what. Steve and I are going to Meier’s for a few drinks after dinner. I’ll drop him off, and then come back later.”

Mrs. Morgan shook her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth, but remained silent.

“Mrs. Morgan, I am going to fuck you in your own house, with your husband and son sleeping upstairs.” As the wicked words spilled from his lips, Mrs. Morgan’s eyes shifted back and forth between her family at the bar and this insolent young man whose hand was lightly rubbing her inner thigh.

Before she could respond, Mr. Morgan and Steve got up from the bar. Dan quickly withdrew his fingers from between Mrs. Morgan’s thighs, instantly missing their warmth, their silky smoothness. She tried valiantly to hide her anxiety as they rejoined Dan and her at the table.

“Whaddya say, honey? Should we get the bill and head home?”

Mrs. Morgan simply nodded and her husband signaled the waiter for the check. “Come on. I’ll take care of the bill, and meet you guys outside.”

While Mr. Morgan waited for the check, Mrs. Morgan, Steve and Dan walked from Hackney’s and across the parking lot toward their cars. As they approached, she dug in her purse for the keys to the Range Rover. “Damn,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Steve asked, stopping beside the SUV. Dan continued to his car, parked on the other side of the Range Rover.

“I think I left my keys inside. Would you be a sweetie and go see if they’re there?”

“Sure, Mom,” Steve responded, trotting back to the restaurant, leaving his degenerate mother with his equally depraved best friend.

Mrs. Morgan slowly came around the front of the Range Rover, putting it between the restaurant and Dan’s car. He stood at his open door, one foot resting on the door sill. Her heels clacking on the tarmac of the parking lot, Mrs. Morgan strode to where Dan was standing and stopped, her augmented tits just inches from the top of his muscular stomach.

She looked over her shoulder through the tinted windows of the Range Rover to make sure no one could see them. When she turned back to Dan, she placed one manicured hand behind his head and pulled him down to her, their lips meeting and mashing, her tongue darting between his lips and shoving into his mouth. She cupped her free hand and rubbed Dan’s growing cock through his pants.

She pulled back after a few seconds, releasing his cock, and put a manicured finger to his lips, wiping the remnants of her lip gloss from him. “Get him drunk. Have him back by midnight,” she whispered. “You come back at one. I will fuck you like none of your stupid little girlfriends ever has.”

She again looked over her shoulder to see her husband and son coming across the parking lot. She moved away from Dan, the long, shiny nails of one hand tracing down his heaving chest, giving a slight tug at his belt buckle, and called out, “I found them, Steve.”

“Good, ‘cause I didn’t,” Dan heard, trying to catch his breath as he eased himself into the car. The Range Rover beeped twice as Mrs. Morgan hit the remote and climbed into the passenger seat, her skirt rising to expose more of her long, lean legs. She shot Dan a lust-filled glance as Steve came around the back of the cars and got in beside Dan.

Dan pulled into the Morgans’ driveway at almost exactly midnight. Fifty yards in, it forked, the right fork leading to a courtyard in front of the Morgans’ house - it was more of a manor, to be honest - the left leading off to the side towards a detached coach house that the Morgans had converted into a four-car garage. Dan took the right fork to deposit Steve in front of the massive oak doors fronting the house.

Getting Steve out of the bar had been no easy task. “Come on, just one more, then we’ll go,” he had complained.

Dan was having none of it. “Let’s go, shithead. You’ll thank me in the morning.” He finally convinced Steve that his mother would be rather upset if he appeared at his sister’s engagement party with a raging hangover.

Steve got out of the car with a promise to call the next week. Dan turned his car around in the courtyard and slowly made his way back toward town to the only open convenience store. He was, of course, stalling, as he had an hour to kill. After buying a Gatorade, he drove around for a while, ultimately ending up back near the Morgans’ house.

He couldn’t park on the street at this time of night without the police writing him a ticket, so he doused his lights and pulled into the driveway. He slowly rolled up the pea-gravel path and took the left fork, which led him back toward the old coach house-cum-garage. He circled around the side of the house, following the driveway, and came to a stop underneath an ancient oak tree. Silently, he opened his door and exited the car, shutting the door behind him with only a barely audible click.

Being familiar with the Morgans’ property, Dan easily made his way in the dark to a flagstone path that led from the driveway and through the backyard. It wound between the house, landscaping and a swimming pool, ending in a large veranda arranged with tables, chairs and lounges. Dan weaved between those obstacles before coming to a stop before double French doors, one of which was slightly ajar.

He slowly pushed the door open, cringing as he waited for a hinge to squeak. Hearing nothing, he pushed the door open further, stepped through, and found himself standing at one end of the Morgans’ long kitchen. Before he could move further into the house, Mrs. Morgan appeared in a doorway at the far end, her luscious body silhouetted against the light streaming in from the television room.

“You’re late,” she whispered, flicking a dimmer switch, turning the kitchen’s overhead lights on low. She was still dressed as she had been at Hackney’s, though her blouse was now untucked.

“Sorry. I--,” Dan began before she interrupted him.

“Sshh. Not so loud.” She crooked a finger at him, beckoning him toward her. As Dan approached, she moved aside, letting him pass into the television room. The scent of her perfume caught his olfactory attention as he brushed against the lovely woman’s warm body.

Dan stopped short upon entering the room. Sprawled on the couch, snoring, was Mr. Morgan. The opening theme to Friends sounded from the television mounted on the wall opposite the couch. Dan turned back to Mrs. Morgan and mouthed, “What the fuck?”

She waved him back into the kitchen and when they were out of sight of the television room, she turned back to him. Placing both hands, palms open, against his broad chest, Mrs. Morgan leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry. He’s passed out. He’ll be there all night.”

Dan’s cock stirred as Mrs. Morgan’s hot breath caressed his neck and inner ear. Her perfume wafted through his nostrils. He shuddered at the heat that flowed from the palms of her hands and through his shirt. He slipped a hand to her hip and pressed her against the kitchen counter, burying his face in her neck.

Leaning back, Mrs. Morgan’ wrapped a leg around Dan’s calf and an arm around the back of his head, pulling him closer, her manicured nails scratching lightly at his scalp. He kissed up her neck to the line of her jaw, across her cheeks, until their lips met in a lustful frenzy, her bright red lip gloss smearing itself between them.

“Sure you wanna do this, Mrs. Morgan?” Dan mumbled through their mashed lips.

“Mmm-hmm,” she moaned back. “But not here,” she whispered, pushing him away. Mrs. Morgan pushed herself away from the counter and, taking Dan by the hand, led him back through the television room, past her snoring husband, and down a long hallway that Dan knew led to the library. Upon entering the room, she clicked the heavy oak door shut and hit a keypad on the wall; lights eased on, casting a soft, faint glow across the room.

The room’s beat-tin ceiling hovered twenty feet over oaken floors. Bookcases and paneling hewn from the same material lined the walls. A fully stocked bar stood at one end of the room, a full-length pool table at the other. In between were several deep brown leather couches and chairs and dark wood tables, one of which held chess pieces dating to the late nineteenth century cast from ebony and ivory. A painting, eight feet long and four feet tall, of an English fox hunt hung above a massive stone fireplace.

Dan walked past her to one of the soft leather couches and sank into it, waiting for Mrs. Morgan to make the first move. It didn’t take long. Her heels cracking against the oak floorboards, the sound deadened as she reached the Persian rug, she sauntered over to the couch and stood before him, hands on hips that were cocked to one side. “Do you remember how I like to be fucked?” Mrs. Morgan inquired, her voice low and husky.

“I remember everything, Mrs. Morgan.” Dan settled further back on the couch, hands in his lap, legs slightly spread.

“Tell me. How do I like it?” Her hips swung the other way and her store-bought tits bobbed with the movement.

“You like it ... a little rough.”

“Mmm,” she responded through hooded eyelids. Her hands traveled up her lithe torso to her silicone-filled tits, her fingers running over the tight fabric that stretched across them. “And what do young men do with these?”

“Squeeze them ... squish them.”

“And these?” she inquired, the thumb and forefinger of each hand grasping at her distended nipples.

“Pinch ... and twist ... and pull.” Dan rubbed the palm of his hand over his thickening shaft, coaxing it along his leg.

“And bite, right?” she asked, her eyes wide with false innocence.

“Right,” Dan managed to respond as Mrs. Morgan’s fingers released her nipples and popped the topmost button of her blouse. She stared intently into the young man’s eyes as she pulled the remaining three buttons from their holes. Sensually, she shrugged the top from her shoulders and Dan watched as it fluttered to the rug beneath her heels.

Mrs. Morgan reached behind her and quickly released the catches of her overworked bra. The straps slipped off her shoulders, but the cups caught on her overfilled flesh; a simple shake set the bra free and it, too, fell to the rug. Dan groaned at the exposure of her massive tits, a thick teat perched at the end of each.

With both hands, Mrs. Morgan reached behind her to unzip her skirt; the movement caused her wobbling tits to thrust forward. Dan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the distended nipples; they begged to be sucked and twisted and bitten. He could feel the intense heat of his cockhead smoldering against his thigh.

His eyes traveled down the woman’s taut, tanned stomach as she released the zipper on her skirt and it whispered down her thighs to pool around her ankles. Mrs. Morgan was without a thong or panties of any sort, and his eyes feasted on her bare cunt, its full lips flowered open.

“And what about this, Dan? What do my boy toys do with this little treat?” she questioned, her manicured fingers gliding over the tender folds of her pussy, dipping into the crevice formed by her lips. She extracted a small amount of fluid on one finger and rubbed it over her clit, a groan escaping her slender throat and shiny lips. “Anything ... they want?” Dan moaned, his palm now vigorously rubbing his cock through the constricting fabric of his pants.

A broad smile crossed Mrs. Morgan’s face, flashing her brilliant white teeth. “Good booooy,” she rewarded. She took a step toward him, then another, and brought first one then the other leg over Dan’s reclined body, straddling him with her knees on either side of his hips. “And what are you going to do to my cunt?” she whispered, placing her full lips next to his ear, breathing hot breath.

“Fuck ... it,” he managed.

She chuckled before leaning back on her haunches, her tight ass resting on Dan’s knees. With her left hand on his shoulder, Mrs. Morgan prompted Dan to lie down on the couch, moving with him. She kicked a leg over his prone body so that her damp cunt hovered over his fresh face.

Bracing herself on her arms, she looked down at her body, her massive tits swaying from her torso and her splayed cunt lips hovering just inches from his nose. “But first, you’re going to eat it.” Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Morgan dropped her bald cunt to Dan’s face, the tip of his nose parting the folds and quickly becoming drenched in her juices. She leaned forward a bit, dragging her exposed clit along his nose and over his lips.

Dan’s wet tongue darted out, sliding along the baby-soft flesh that bordered her well-used hole. He dipped it between her slick folds and groaned at the taste of her fluids as they exploded across his tongue. Mrs. Morgan moaned as his strong tongue searched for and located her inflamed clit, manipulating it with small, tight circular movements.

She let her elbows relax and dropped to her forearms, burying her beautiful face in Dan’s clothed crotch. Baring her teeth, she pulled the button of his pants loose, a free hand drawing the zipper down. With a fervor, her left hand snaked its way into his boxers, her cool fingers closing around the overheated shaft, drawing a guttural but muffled moan from the young man beneath her.

Mrs. Morgan wasted little time pulling the thickening cock from the confines of Dan’s boxers and, as soon as it was free, she dropped her wet, red lips around his head, swiping her tongue across the sensitive purple flesh, eliciting another muffled groan from between her legs.

Dan arched his back, sending his cock deep into Mrs. Morgan’s hot mouth, and managed to wiggle his arms free, locking them around her waist, and pulling her tighter to his face. His tongue assaulted the married woman’s sopping cunt lips and engorged clit, nibbling at the sensitive nub. Her fluids dripped from her hole and over his face, coating his cheeks in honey-like wetness.

As he continued his assault on Mrs. Morgan’s clit, she developed a rhythm of her own, her soft, full lips gliding up and down the length of Dan’s shaft. She gripped the length of him in her left hand, holding his cock steady and upright as her lips clung tightly to his pink flesh, pulling it taut on the downstroke and letting it slacken on the upstroke.

Dan groaned as the back of her engagement ring caught on the veins of his cock. His long, strong fingers squeezed her ass cheeks tighter, pulling her cunt harder onto his face, crushing her engorged clit between her pelvic bone and his chin. He pulled her ass cheeks apart, his fingers inching closer to her exposed asshole.

When he sunk his tongue deep between the bald folds of her cunt, grinding his chin up against her inflamed bud, Mrs. Morgan’s body jerked and her wetness flowed from her pussy and into his mouth, nearly choking him in the thick fluid. Dan’s cock slipped from her mouth as she trembled through the mini orgasm, but her hand remained tightly fisted around his cock, tugging and pulling it.

As her breathing returned to normal, Mrs. Morgan pushed herself off the couch and to her feet. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him from the couch and led him around it to the pool table.

“You’re gonna fuck me right where my husband entertains his friends.”

Approaching the pool table, she turned and lifted her tight little ass cheeks to the mahogany side bumper, spreading her legs wide. Her wet cunt glistened in the dim light cast by the table lamps near the couch, beckoning Dan to move between her legs. As he did, Mrs. Morgan wrapped the fingers of her left hand around his bobbing shaft, stroking it smoothly, feeling the heat of his cockhead burn into her palm.

When she pulled him closer, placing the head of his cock at the slick opening of her cunt, Dan took the initiative, reached behind her taking hold of that taut little butt, and slid his length into her, parting her soft cunt lips and taking her breath away. “Yessss,” she hissed as the young man pulled out and rammed his cock back into her. “That’s the way ... I like it.”

When Dan drove into her cunt again, the force of his push slid her ass off the side bumper onto the felt, leaving a trail of cunt juice along the bumper. Mrs. Morgan placed her arms behind her, leaning back and bracing herself on widespread hands, her bloated tits wobbling on her tan chest.

Dan withdrew again. “What do you want, Mrs. Morgan? What does that little cunt need? he taunted, just the tip of his cock remaining inside the older woman’s cunt.

“Hard ... cock,” she responded, her baby blue eyes, alight with lust, locked on his.