Dan and Kelly had gotten together two or three times since that lazy Sunday afternoon, the last time just around Thanksgiving. Since then, he had not heard a word from her.

Dan rarely if ever called her. He was cognizant that an ill-timed phone call might be noticed by her husband and create an uncomfortable situation. Instead, she usually called him, and usually did so within a few weeks after their last get-together, almost as though she was in search of a fix. But it had now been several months since he’d last heard from her.

As December came and went, he figured that the holiday season had tied her up, and he let it go. But when late January rolled around and turned to February, and he still had not heard from her, he tried her cell phone. Getting her voicemail, he left a message, and then another a month or so later. A third attempt, made in late March, informed Dan that her number was no longer working. ‘Maybe,’ he thought, she found religion.’

She did, in a way.

In May, Dan got a call from Dave Jacobs. Dave had gone to USC with Dan, Marc, and Ryan, but had never really socialized much with them back in Chicago. He was engaged to be married this summer and spent most of his time with his fiance and her friends. When Dave called, he suggested that he and Dan get together for drinks after work on the upcoming Thursday, and Dan readily agreed, just to catch up with his old friend.

When Thursday came around, Dan left his office in the Loop and took an Uber up to Lottie’s in Bucktown. He found Dave at a table talking to a guy who was vaguely familiar. He approached the table and Dave looked up.

“Dan, what’s up?” he said, extending his hand. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, my friend. How’s everything?”

“Not bad, not bad.” He gestured toward his friend. “This is Mike. Mike, this is Dan. Mike and I used to work together before I left the meat grinder.”

Dan’s throat constricted upon realizing why he recognized the guy. He’d seen him at a charity event late last summer. He’d seen pictures of him in his bedroom, his home office, in the house he shared with his adulterous wife. Those pictures had looked down upon Dan when his cock was buried in this man’s wife’s dripping bald cunt, ensconced in her wet mouth, her shiny lips leaving trails of saliva along his shaft or trapped between her massive tits, her wedding and engagement rings hovering inches from his engorged cock.

“Good to meet you, Mike.” Dan extended his hand, which Mike accepted.

“You, too.” Turning back to Dave, Mike continued, “I gotta run, Dave. Good to catch up with you. See you at the wedding.” Mike MacGuire said his goodbyes and departed.

His chest still pounding, Dan took a seat and ordered an Anti-Hero. His heart rate had returned to normal by the time it arrived.

“Jesus,” Dave said. “I feel sorry for that guy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dave took a sip from his beer. “Long story but bottom line? A few months ago, he came home from a business trip. Found his wife in bed. She was alone, but it was obvious that someone else had been there before him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered. “That sucks.”

“No shit. And apparently, this was not the first time. I guess she confessed that she’d been fucking around on him their entire relationship.”

Dan just shook his head, knowing full well the depths of depravity that Kelly had fallen into during the course of her marriage. “So what did he do?” he finally asked.

“Kicked her out,” Dave continued, taking another pull from his beer. “He filed for divorce, got temporary custody of their daughter. He thinks the divorce should be pretty quick. She admitted all of it in an e-mail she sent him.”

Dan nodded. “When did all this shit go down?”

“Right before Christmas, I guess. Merry fuckin’ Christmas, huh?” Dave quipped, downing the rest of his beer.

Dan and Dave stayed at Lottie’s for a few hours, catching up on their lives. Around 9:00 they parted ways, and Dan made his way home. He took a shower and hit the couch to watch ESPN for a while before going to bed. But he wasn’t really paying attention, his mind focused on Kelly and what become of her.

He felt sorry for her, in a way. Not that she didn’t deserve what had happened. She was completely faithless and blatant in the way she trampled her wedding vows. Still, her one flaw a complete lack of sexual morals was a major one, and it seemed to have finally caught up with her, wrecking her family in the process.

Introspectively, Dan felt an almost suffocating guilt for his part in Kelly’s downfall, and that of her family. Certainly, he could rationalize away his role in the process. It wasn’t like he led her astray. By her own admission, she had been cheating on Mike since the day they started dating. And it was Kelly that started the ball rolling that summer night that seemed so long ago when she and Dan shared a cab from Bucktown to Lincoln Park.

And even had he repelled her advances that night, Dan knew that she would not have remained faithful. Kelly MacGuire, as innocent and beautiful as she appeared, was a slut. Married or not, she would have willingly spread her legs and admitted almost any man, no matter his age, race, color, or creed. Dan was merely a tool to her, and if he hadn’t obliged her, someone else would have. But it had finally caught up with her, and she was presumably on her own now.

Dan turned the television off, grabbed his phone, and padded into his bedroom, his mind on the big question: how?

There was a girl named Donna. She was one of Kelly’s best friends from high school. Donna lived in New York City with her fiance and was getting married in Palm Beach just after New Year’s Day. A few Saturdays before Christmas, Donna and some of her New York friends flew into Chicago for the weekend for her bachelorette party.

Lisa, Kelly’s maid-of-honor and part of Donna’s inner circle, made all the arrangements for the party. She rented Lazy Bird, a hip lounge in the basement of The Hoxton in the West Loop, for a few hours, and sent invitations to thirty or so girls. Even compared to Donna’s permissive nature, Lisa was a wild woman, so it was no surprise to anyone that Lisa had arranged for some male entertainment to appear toward the end of the party.

That Friday morning, Mike called his wife and told her that he would not be home from his business trip that afternoon. Some issues had arisen with his client that would keep him in Denver, but he’d be home Sunday night.

Kelly groaned on hearing the news. She was counting on his return so he could take care of their daughter Saturday night while she was with the girls. She called her mother only to learn that she and Kelly’s father had a dinner party to attend. A few other options didn’t work out. Finally, she called Esmerelda, who agreed to come over for the evening.

She arrived Saturday afternoon around 4:00. While Kelly was getting ready for the evening, the nanny played with her daughter and did a little cleaning around the house. She had just finished with the kitchen when she heard Mrs. MacGuire’s heels on the stairway, descending from the second floor. She left the kitchen and met Kelly in the living room at the front of the house.

Kelly was standing before a vanity mirror, her slender fingers holding a tube of red lip gloss, smearing it across her lips. Esmerelda took in the sight of her boss. She stood atop four-inch heels. Her lean legs, hips, and butt were squeezed into snug red leather pants. As she leaned toward the mirror, applying the lip gloss, a simple diamond pendant swung from her elegant neck. Her large breasts hung from her chest, covered by a white tank top.

Kelly slipped the lip gloss into a handbag and reached for a black leather jacket that was resting on the table below the mirror. As she slipped her arms into the coat and pulled it closed over her chest, Esmeralda caught a glimpse of the printing on the front of Kelly’s tank top: “Yes They’re Real,” it read.

‘Puta,’ the nanny thought. How can a respectable mother dress like that?’

“All right, Esmerelda. I’m off,” she announced, turning toward the door. “I might be late, but should be home by one or two, at the latest.”

“Yes, Mrs. MacGuire.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will, Mrs. MacGuire,” Esmerelda said to the door that had already shut. She simply rolled her eyes.

Esmerelda had begun wondering about the lady of the house these last few months. She often disappeared during the middle of the day, saying she was going shopping. But almost without exception, Mrs. MacGuire returned with no shopping bags, no clothes or groceries or anything. And increasingly, Mrs. MacGuire had been asking her to watch her daughter on weeknights when Mr. MacGuire was out-of-town. She would return home around midnight, alcohol on her breath, her hair in disarray, and her clothes wrinkled and disheveled.

Esmerelda was not an educated woman, but any fool could see that something was going on. The pretty Mrs. MacGuire was running around on her husband. ‘Puta,’ Esmerelda thought again, before putting a DVD on for the entertainment of the whore’s daughter.

Outside her walk-up, her handbag slung over her shoulder, Kelly climbed into the Uber she’d ordered and settled in for the ride to the West Loop.

She had arrived somewhere in the middle of the pack. She found ten or twelve girls at the bar or sitting at tables. The more reserved ones were sipping chardonnay, comparing notes on their weddings, their husbands and, for a few, their children. The rough-and-tumble ones drank from beer bottles or downed vodka or gin, mixed with soda.

Kelly threw her coat over an empty chair and ordered a vodka and soda from the bartender, whose eyes lingered too long on her jutting breasts before meeting her eyes. Drink in manicured hand, Kelly found Donna and gave her a big hug. They spent a few minutes catching up, and Donna introduced Kelly to her friends from New York.

More girls continued to arrive and Kelly mingled with them, greeting those she hadn’t seen in a while with hugs and platonic kisses. After a while, the wait staff brought down several large plates of food. Kelly placed a few finger sandwiches on a plate and joined Donna’s New York friends at a table. “Are you girls enjoying Chicago?” she asked.

“Fun so far,” one of them said. “But we can’t wait for the real fun to start. Donna told me that her maid-of-honor what’s her name, Lisa? that Lisa hired a few male strippers.”

“I heard that, too,” Kelly responded, laughing. “Should be interesting. What time are they coming?” she asked, swallowing a bite of food.

“I don’t know. Soon, I think. I think we have the basement only until eleven.”

Kelly looked at her watch. It was 9:30.

“By the way, I love your top, Kelly.”

“Thanks. It’s my fun top. It’s just a tease.”

“I’ll bet,” one of the girls responded, laughing. “Where’d you get it?”

“Found it online. I thought it’d be fun to where once in a while,” Kelly responded. The truth was, she had half a dozen such tops, all of them shoved in the corner of her closet.

Light conversation among the group continued for a bit, when one of the New York girls asked, “So, Kelly you’re a local. Any good ideas for where we can go later tonight?”

“Of course. Kinda depends on what kind of scene you’re looking for. Dance clubs, hole-in-the-walls, anything in between.” Kelly looked over toward Donna. “No matter where we go, I don’t think she’ll be joining us, though. She looks pretty wasted.”

They all looked over at Donna and laughed; she was swaying slightly, a champagne glass dangling from one hand; her eyes were slightly hooded. “No problem,” one of the girls said. “You lead the way, Kelly, and we’ll follow.”

The girls finished their dinner, and their plates were cleared away. As they refreshed their drinks, the entertainment arrived. Kelly saw a heavily muscled police officer coming down the stairs and laughed. ‘How typical,’ she thought. The first officer was followed by a second, equally built, cop. Laughing, she leaned across the bar toward Lisa, and yelled over the din of twenty-five gabbing women, “Nice job, Lisa. You couldn’t have picked something more cliche.”

Lisa laughed back, and said, “Yeah, but who cares, as long as they lose those uniforms.”

Kelly raised her glass in a mock toast and turned to watch the entertainment set up.

The male strippers cleared an area at one end of the space and created a circle with enough chairs for each woman to have one. The screech of a traffic whistle brought the girls to their chairs, and the show began.

It was typical of cheesy strip shows. The cops ripped off their uniforms as they placed Donna “under arrest.” Kelly merely rolled her eyes, but as they rubbed their near-naked bodies against her friend, she felt her already thick nipples harden and shuffled her thighs.

The strippers did their thing with Donna, and then parted and moved about the room, rubbing their oiled bodies against the other women. The shy and reserved ones blushed and kept their hands at their sides. The wild ones laughed and yelled and rubbed their hands across slick chests and spanked oily ass cheeks. The even bolder ones discreetly rubbed the exterior of tiger-print thongs that housed thick cocks that strained to be let loose.

By the time one of the strippers found Kelly, she had already downed four or five drinks. Her mind was clouded with growing lust. She took a pull of a vodka-and-soda as the stripper shimmied his way toward her.

Marcos saw the gleam in Kelly’s bright blue eyes as he approached her. Her distended nipples were evident, and he tilted his head to read the writing on her tank top, which was slightly distorted due to her generous breasts. Kelly watched his eyes move and saw his face light up in a broad, leering smile.

He straddled her lap and rolled his hips, his covered cock close to her face, the immense heat of it burning into her thigh. Kelly laughed as the girls around her yelled and hooted and cheered her on. Marcos squatted so that his thong-covered cock rested against her belly, and Kelly took the opportunity to grab his ass and pull him into her. She felt the thick cock press against her stomach as those around her roared. Her nipples stiffened further, and her pussy roiled with the contact.

But almost as soon as it began, Marcos moved on to the next girl. Kelly downed the rest of her drink and went to the bar for a refill. She again took her seat as the strip show continued. After about an hour, the strippers wound down their show, and donned their ‘uniforms.’ Kelly, now on her sixth or seventh drink, returned to the bar, grabbed a napkin and a pen from the bartender, and scribbled a note on it.

As Marcos bent over picking up five- and ten-dollar bills from the floor, Kelly approached him, drink gripped between the manicured fingers of one hand, the folded napkin in the other. From his kneeling position, Marcos looked up into the sparkling eyes of Kelly MacGuire, her hip cocked to one side. With a sultry smile on her face, she let the napkin fall from his fingers and it floated to the floor right before him.

As he picked it up, he looked at her inquiringly. “It’s for you,” she said in a throaty voice. “Not for the other one just for you.”

Marcos smiled and slid the napkin into his pocket without opening it.

She turned on her heel and walked away, joining the New York girls at the bar. “Ready, ladies?”

“Let’s go!”

Donna was about to pass out and Lisa offered to take her home. Some of the other girls were going home, too, or meeting boyfriends or husbands at different bars. Kelly and Donna’s friends from New York left Lazy Bird. Earlier, after asking some of them what kind of scene they wanted, Kelly had decided on something simple: Gibson’s. An Uber was waiting for them at the curb and they climbed in.

Marcos and his companion finished cleaning up, and they, too, left. They were done for the night and parted on the sidewalk outside the hotel. Marcos walked a few blocks north, found his car, and drove home. When he entered his apartment, he emptied his pockets and dropped the contents on his kitchen counter. As change and keys clattered on the cheap Formica, he spied the napkin. Lifting it, he unfolded it and read the neatly printed message:

“Please call me.” It was followed by a telephone number.

He grunted and shook his head, tossing the napkin aside.

Kelly and the girls had no problem getting into Gibson’s despite the bar being crowded. Once inside, Kelly wedged her way to the bar and ordered drinks for everyone. Two older gentlemen at a high-top table invited the girls to join them, and they agreed, if only for the seats.

An hour and a half later, and with a few more drinks coursing through Kelly’s bloodstream, Donna’s friends announced that they were done for the night. They thanked their hosts and got up to leave. Kelly, too, was rather drunk and left with them. On the sidewalk, the newfound friends all hugged each other and waited for their respective Ubers to arrive. The other girls’ car arrived first and they said their goodbyes to Kelly.

Before Kelly’s car arrived, her cell phone chirped from inside her handbag. She pulled it out and looked at the screen, but didn’t recognize the number. Shaking her lustrous blond hair from her face, she hit “Send” and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“This is me calling you,” she heard from the earpiece.

Kelly’s heart skipped a beat, and a smile slowly formed on her plump lips. Adjusting the bag on her shoulder and moving the phone to her other ear, she slurred, “Where are you?”

“Where are you?”

“Gibson’s. Wanna meet me here? Have a drink with me?”

“Is that what you really want?” he asked. “To have a drink with me?”

Kelly closed her eyes, and her nipples throbbed. She moved away from the doorman and the valets. “No.”

“No I didn’t think so.” He paused. “So what is it you want?”

Kelly bit her lower lip. She looked around her. No one was close so she turned her attention back to the phone. “I wanna fuck.”

Marcos laughed softly. “At Gibson’s?”

Kelly groaned. “No not at Gibson’s.”

“Mmhm. So where? Where do you wanna fuck?”

She paused, fiddling with the zipper on her leather coat. “In my bed.”

Marcos merely laughed. “Will your husband be there?”

“No. He’s away.”

“Good. No one likes a husband who lets his wife fuck other guys.”

“Well, my husband doesn’t let me do anything. I do what I want.”

“And what do you want tonight?”

Kelly’s pussy simmered and she began to fidget, shuffling her feet. “I wanna feel what I felt earlier. But I want to feel it inside me.” Her bright blue eyes shifted back and forth again, making sure no one was listening. “Fucking me.”

“I’ve run across your type before the slutty little housewife. Is that what you are?”

“Yesss.” Kelly almost hissed her response. She was not even near this man right now, but she was immensely turned on. A trickle of fluid leaked from her pussy and threatened to run down her leg, but her skin-tight pants caught it, left it there to soak her thong.

“What’s your name?”

“Kelly,” she whispered.

“Your last name, Kelly. I don’t care about your first name.”

“MacGuire, Kelly MacGuire.” The phone trembled in her hand. Her pink tongue swiped across her shiny red lips.

“What’s your address, Mrs. MacGuire?”

“Oh, god,” she muttered.

“If you want my cock drilling into your married cunt, you’ll tell me your address, Mrs. MacGuire.” His voice was calm and measured.

Her address tumbled over her lips, and the connection went dead. He had hung up on her. Regaining her senses, Kelly checked the Uber app, realizing that her ride had been sitting at the corner for the last few minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, the Uber came to a stop in front of her walk-up. Marcos was sitting on the steps that led up to the front door. As she stumbled from the car, Kelly noticed him and stopped short. He had changed into street clothes, a tight white tee shirt underneath a black leather coat. Below his waist, he wore tight jeans and motorcycle boots. He rose as Kelly approached.

“Hi, Mrs. MacGuire.”

“Hi to yourself,” she responded. She stood facing him. “You gonna tell me your name?”

“Does it matter?” The confidence was evident in his tone.

Kelly paused a moment. “Not really.”

Marcos merely shrugged his shoulders, stood, and turned to walk up the steps to the front door. Kelly caught up with him and keyed the door open.

Esmerelda had fallen asleep on a couch in the living room but instantly awoke when she heard the front door open and Kelly’s heels click-clack on the hardwood floors. She quickly sat up from her sleeping position. “Hello, Mrs. MacGuire “ Her voice fell off as she saw the strange man enter behind the lady of the house. “Is everything all right, Mrs. MacGuire?”

“Of course, it is, Esmerelda,” she responded, dropping her handbag on the vanity table and removing her coat, draping it over the stair rail. Marcos remained in the entryway. “Thanks for staying late. You can go now.” Kelly looked over her shoulder at Marcos.

“Uh, are you sure everything is all right, ma’am? I can stay and watch Evelyn if something is the matter.” As she spoke, Esmerelda’s eyes shifted back and forth between Kelly and Marcos.

“That’s okay. I have everything under control.”

Esmerelda rose from the couch and crossed the living room to retrieve her purse and bulky overcoat. Marcos moved out of the entryway to allow her to leave. She paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back at Kelly, the obvious question in her eyes.

“Really, Esmerelda. Have a good night.”

As soon as the door shut behind the nanny, Kelly pulled Marcos into her tight body. One of her hands wrapped behind his head, pulling it down to her face, her nails scraping against his scalp. Her shiny red lips parted and she sank her wet, pink tongue into Marcos’ mouth. His large hands roughly grabbed her hips, jamming her pussy against his thigh, and Kelly moaned into his mouth.

Outside on the sidewalk, Esmerelda looked back at the walk-up. Though the shades were drawn on the front windows, she saw the silhouette of two bodies meeting and embracing. “Puta,” she muttered, walking away.

Inside, Kelly’s tongue was still buried in Marcos’ mouth. She pulled away from him and walked toward the staircase, beckoning him with a bright red nail to follow. “Upstairs. Let’s go,” she demanded.

He complied, of course, and followed the woman up the stairs. As they ascended the stairs, Kelly’s firm bottom swayed from side to side right in front of Marcos’ face. He wound up and gave her a playful slap on the ass. The contact startled her, and she stumbled a little on the last step, shooting Marcos a warning glance over her shoulder. “Ssshhh,” she hissed. Whispering, she continued, “My daughter’s bedroom is right here.” She paused as she passed a bedroom at the top of the stairs, and quietly pulled the door shut.

As they entered the master bedroom, Kelly flicked on a bedside lamp. She moved to the foot of the bed and turned to face Marcos, who stood in the doorway. Her eyes were smoldering, and Marcos was left with the distinct impression that Mrs. MacGuire was not a flirt on her first one-night stand. Her confidence and relaxed nature reflected that she had been here before, in similar circumstances.

Closing the door behind him and nodding his head toward her, Marcos said, “They don’t look real, Mrs. MacGuire. In fact, they look like they’ve been bolted onto your chest.”

Kelly crossed her arms beneath her bulging tits, lifting them and distorting the provocative words emblazoned across her chest. “Why don’t you find out?”

Marcos took three quick strides across the room and without really stopping pushed Kelly back on the bed. She landed on her back and bounced a few times on the mattress. Marcos followed her down, straddling her trim hips. From her submissive position, Kelly watched as two large hands grasped the neckline of her tank top and ripped it down the middle, leaving the top in tatters. Reaching beneath her back, he found the clasp to her bra and released it, pushing the thing aside and exposing her distended nipples.

Kelly’s eyes closed and she moaned at the rough treatment. Coarse hands cupped her heaving breasts, pushing them together to form a deep cleavage. When Marcos leaned down and took a thick nipple between his lips, one of Kelly’s hands clamped behind his head, pulling him tight against her. He sucked hard on her nipple, drawing it between his scraping teeth, before moving to the other nipple. Kelly grunted and squirmed beneath him.

“Told you they were real,” she breathed after a few minutes of Marcos nipping at her teats.

“Shut up,” he replied, releasing a nipple from between his teeth. He let her tits fall from his grasp, watching as they wobbled atop her chest. He moved down her body and roughly pulled the button of her pants loose, nearly tearing the zipper down. Without waiting for Kelly to raise her hips, he aggressively pulled the tight pants over her trim hips and down her lithe legs.

He flicked the heels off her dainty feet and heard them clatter to the hardwood floor. Pulling the pants over her feet, Marcos threw them behind him. They landed atop a dresser, toppling a framed picture of Kelly and Mike on their wedding day. Both Marcos and Kelly heard the frame crash to the floor, the glass shattering, but neither paid it any attention.

Like her slutty tank top, Kelly’s thong didn’t stand a chance against Marcos’ savagery. He ripped it from her waist and Kelly winced when one of the leg bands cut into her skin. Marcos tossed the thong over his shoulder, where it fluttered to the floor in a shredded state.

He wasted no time before burying his face between Kelly’s legs. There was no foreplay, no romance. Instead, Marcos’ tongue went right for its goal: Mrs. MacGuire’s bald pussy. It fluttered through her labia and burrowed into her cunt. “Oh, God,” he heard her moan when his tongue invaded her. As it slipped between her lips, Marcos tasted the sweet tanginess of Kelly’s cunt. He collected the wetness on his tongue and withdrew it, sliding it up and down the cheating wife’s hairless slit, lubricating her.

He moved his head up and captured Kelly’s engorged clit between his lips, and sucked. Kelly’s hands shot behind Marcos’ head, pulling his face tighter against her leaking cunt. “Nnnghnn.”

As his tongue roamed over and around Kelly’s swollen clit, Marcos slipped his hands under her legs and brought them around to rest on her stomach. Opening his eyes and looking up Mrs. MacGuire’s body, Marcos was able to see her beautiful face, framed by her mountainous tits. Kelly’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, and her tongue occasionally darted out to lick her shiny red lips.

When Marcos sucked her clit between his teeth, roughly scraping the sensitive nub, Kelly’s soft lips opened in a silent scream, and she bucked her hips into Marcos’s face. He managed to hold her relatively steady as he continued the assault on the cheating pussy. Her clit trapped securely between his lips and teeth, Marcos shook his head back and forth, like a dog with a bone.

Kelly’s poor clit couldn’t take anymore. Her hands fell from the back of Marcos’ head to the comforter that covered the bed, grasping it tightly, her knuckles blanched white. Her firm ass rose from the mattress, slamming her cunt into Marcos’ face as an orgasm slammed into her.

“Nnnghnnn,” she moaned, her head lolling back and forth. Her hair, damp with perspiration, stuck to her face, masking her features. Marcos refused to release Kelly’s clit from his mouth, and her body trembled as she rode through her orgasm.

As Kelly came down, Marcos released her clit from his mouth and quickly got up. He started pulling the comforter off the bed, pulling Kelly with it in the process. She rolled to one side and the comforter and the top sheet were dumped on the floor. Marcos climbed back on the bed and rolled Kelly onto her stomach. With his knees, he coaxed her legs apart, and slipped a hand over her the tight cheeks of her ass, feeling for her sopping cunt.

“Feel better now, slut?” he taunted the married woman, two fingers sliding through her sodden folds, occasionally grazing over her clit.

“Yeah,” Kelly muttered. Her face was pushed into the mattress, muffling her voice. Perspiration shone across her back. With Marcos’ manipulation of her clit, her hips rolled in a sensual wave. Her breathing remained labored. When Marcos increased the pressure on her clit, spreading her wetness over the engorged bud, her breath hitched and he watched as her manicured fingers gripped the headboard, squeezing tight.

“What a treat you are, Mrs. MacGuire,” he intoned, almost in a whisper. “Such a fun little slut, though I suppose the writing across your chest was a dead giveaway, huh?”

“Uhh-uhh,” Kelly barely got out.

Marcos grunted at the sight below him. This married tramp was laid out before him, her tanned legs spread, allowing him access to her overheated pussy. Her tight ass stared him in the face, and her gargantuan tits yes, they’re real squished out from beneath her chest. Her dirty blond hair, damp with sweat, was in complete disarray. Above her head, her hands fiercely grasped the headboard, her wedding and engagement rings sparkling in the light cast from a bedside lamp. Marcos’ cock throbbed in his tight jeans.