Chris entered Room 834 at the Fairmont Hotel and was immediately overcome by a smell he knew all too well. An assistant manager of the venerable Chicago hotel, he had been summoned to the room by the head of Housekeeping a few minutes after noon on Sunday. It was just over an hour after check-out, and the room was still occupied. Given the circumstances of the occupation, Housekeeping needed his assistance.

Before entering, Chris rapped his knuckles against the oak panel of the door several times. Receiving no response, he waived the master keycard over the sensor. When the door clicked, he opened it slightly. “Hello? Fairmont Management,” he said loudly, giving fair warning of his impending entry.

Still receiving no response, he pushed the door open and stepped into the entryway of the suite. NOT AGAIN, he thought to himself as the commingled scents of alcohol, sweat and sex assaulted him.

He closed the door behind him – loudly, giving further warning of his presence – and stepped down the short entryway and into the main living area. The shades were pulled and he squinted, looking across the room and into the bedroom, the door of which stood open.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. His guest – Chris was rather proprietary of those who chose to stay at the Fairmont – lay upon the bare mattress of the king-sized bed, the sheets having been torn from the corners and strewn about the floor. She was face down, her small feet dangling off the edge of the mattress, her tight, tan-lined bottom bare to the stale, damp air that permeated the room.

Judging by the rank odor of alcohol, she was passed out. Judging by the equally strong smells of sweat and sex, her body had been ravaged the night before and probably into the wee hours of the morning.

NASCAR.

Not something most people would associate with the city of Chicago, and yet, here it was. Grant Park and the streets around it had been closed off. Michigan Avenue, Columbus Drive, Lake Shore Drive, and a handful of east-west streets were now a race track. Stands had been erected on sidewalks and in the park.

The race brought a whole host of visitors from far and wide. Hotels were sold out – not just in Chicago, but in the suburbs, too. You couldn’t get a reservation at a decent restaurant. Finding room to belly up to a bar was next to impossible. An Uber in River North? Forget it. Just walk.

NASCAR fans, race fans, corporate sponsors, those who just wanted to say they went to a NASCAR race – one and all, they descended on Chicago like vultures, turning the city upside down for the July Fourth weekend.

Among them was Wendy Jackson. Wendy didn’t have to travel far, just a short thirty or so miles from the North Shore, but she was a sales executive with one of NASCAR’s major sponsors, which got her into the VIP section of the race and a suite at the Fairmont for Friday and Saturday night.

Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it – she had to stay back from the family’s weekend at their lake house up in Wisconsin. Tom wasn’t too happy about it, but corporate politics required she attend and, besides, she’d drive up and join them on Sunday and would be able to spend a few days with them before everyone returned to their homes in the Chicago suburbs.

Torrential downpours caused an hours-long delay in the start of the race, and then race officials shortened it from one hundred laps to seventy-five. When the race drew to a close, some of the younger company attendees had departed Grant Park for various bars and clubs around the city. Wendy returned to the Fairmont with her boss Betsy, Betsy’s husband, and a few mid-level NASCAR personnel they’d been tasked with entertaining all weekend. The rest of the returning crew opted for bed, but Wendy stopped by the bar off the main lobby for a drink before retiring. Throughout the afternoon, she had a few beers before switching to vodka and soda; she wanted her buzz to keep her going a little while longer.

The bar at the Fairmont is by no means a Chicago hotspot. Nonetheless, it was quite crowded after the race. Wendy elbowed her way to the bar and ordered a martini - Tito’s, dirty, bleu cheese olives ... two, please. Sipping from the glass, she waited until a seat opened at the bar and slid into it.

Being alone and not knowing anyone at the bar, Wendy looked around her and eavesdropped on the conversations taking place beside her, generally enjoying the lively atmosphere of the bar. An elderly couple seated next to her paid their tab and rose to leave, and Wendy ordered vodka and soda from the bartender when he came to collect the couple’s tab.

Clay, also in town for the race, had been sitting at a low table set away from the bar with a few of his friends. The four of them had traveled up from Mobile, Alabama with two of their fathers, who were now back in their respective rooms, exhausted from an afternoon of drinking.

The boys’ choice of seats was calculated. Being several years away from the legal drinking age, they wanted to avoid the scrutiny of the bartender. One of their group looked a bit older and, had a decent fake ID, and was tasked with keeping beer on the table for the rising high school seniors. Clay was that person.

During a lull in conversation, he looked around the bar, taking in the scene. People from all walks of life and quite a few hotties. The Fairmont was perhaps not the best scouting field, but several opportunities did present themselves.

When Clay saw Wendy hike her trim butt onto the bar stool, he made his choice. He had tuned out the conversation around him, watching her as she brushed a few stray strands of long, dirty blonde hair behind an ear before tipping the martini glass against her full lips.

She looked his way without actually seeing him, and Clay smiled inwardly. SO HOT, he thought, taking in sparkling green eyes that sat above high cheekbones and an elegant, perfectly proportioned nose.

When the elderly couple sitting next to her at the bar rose, so too did Clay, taking his beer with him. “Be back in a bit,” he muttered to his friends.

Approaching the bar, Clay slid into the just-vacated seat next to Wendy and ordered another beer for himself.

“I’ve never seen this place so crowded,” he said to Wendy, looking around.

She glanced his way and gave him a small smile to acknowledge his presence.

“Let me guess,” he continued despite her lack of encouragement. He feigned concentration, his thumb and forefinger at his temples. “You’re here for the race.”

Wendy smiled wryly, finishing the last of her martini. “You’re incredible! How’d you do that?” she asked rhetorically, setting the empty glass on the bar. “I mean, you’re in a hotel bar full of tourists, it’s the weekend of a NASCAR race, and you actually managed to divine that I’m here for the race.”

Clay gave her a sly smile, ignoring the thick sarcasm. “It’s my sixth sense.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she responded as the bartender approached with their drinks. Wendy reached for her clutch.

“No, no. Let me get it,” Clay insisted, pulling two twenty-dollar bills from his wallet. “What kind of gentleman would I be to let such a beautiful young woman pay for her own drink?”

Placing their drinks before them, the bartender rolled his eyes at Wendy before swiping the bills from the bar. Wendy mirrored him, though she secretly reveled in the attention of the young man.

“Mind if I join you?” Clay asked, all confidence as though there was no way the striking woman would decline him.

“You already have, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Then you’re welcome to stay.” She raised her glass to the young man, and they clinked. “Thanks for the drink.”

“My pleasure,” he said, taking a sip.

Wendy regarded the young man for a moment, then set her glass on the bar. “You’re not old enough to be here,” she said matter-of-factly.

Clay shot a quick glance toward the bartender, thankful that he’d moved on, well out of earshot. He then looked back toward Wendy and shrugged.

A soft smile tugged at Wendy’s mouth. “Eighteen?” she ventured a guess, smiling a little broader when she saw the look of discomfort creep to his face.

“Almost,” he muttered, taking another sip from the bottle.

Wendy nodded in response and patted the young man’s thigh. “Don’t worry, sweetie, your secret’s safe with me.”

The two fell into silence for a few minutes, and then Clay turned toward her. “So, was I right? About the race, I mean.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Little dressed up for a race, don’t you think?”

“Not really. If I was in the cheap seats, sure. But I was in a VIP section with some co-workers and clients.”

“Nice.”

“Very nice.”

“And booze, too, I’m sure.”

“And booze, too.” She smiled at that and took a long pull from her drink.

“So, where are your co-workers and clients now? You look like you’re here alone.”

“That’s because I am. They’re either out at the clubs or hit the sack early.”

“Leaving you all alone.”

“Leaving me all alone.”

“No husband?”

“No husband.”

“At all, or just not here?” Clay strained for a look at her left hand. It was bare of any jewelry, with only a barely visible tan line at the base of the cherry-red manicured ring finger.

Wendy just shrugged her shoulders again. The action caused her large breasts to rise and then fall with a tight wobble.

“Is that a tan line on your finger?” he asked, reaching across her for her hand and gently taking it in his.

She simply nodded her head.

“Married?”

Another nod. Wendy’s emerald eyes locked on his searching ones.

“So, where’s the ring?”

“I took it off,” she responded, almost beneath her breath.

Clay’s eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “Really.” It wasn’t quite a question.

“Really.”

“Hmph.” He took a long pull from his beer, Wendy’s soft hand still cradled in his, his thumb lightly rubbing over the smooth flesh that normally sported her engagement and wedding rings. “Mind if I ask why?”

“No.”

He paused, waiting for her to continue.

“No, you don’t mind, or no, I can’t ask?”

“I don’t mind if you ask.”

Clay waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. “Ooo-kay. Then tell me, why did you take it off?”

Wendy looked around to ensure that no one was listening before she answered. Leaning closer to the young man, her full breasts squishing against his arm, she whispered in his ear. “I take it off when I wanna fuck.”

Her hot breath caressing his inner ear – and the filthiness of her words – caused Clay’s cock to stir in his shorts. He let that sink in for a moment while he recovered.

“Tan line’s kind of faint,” he said, his eyes focused on the pale band of flesh on the otherwise tan skin.

“I take it off a lot,” she responded, again with a wry smile.

Clay licked his lips anxiously, but managed to return her smile, and then took another drink.

“I think you should put it back on,” he announced confidently.

“Oh, really. And why is that?”

“It belongs on your finger, doesn’t it? Didn’t your husband put it there on your wedding day?”

She frowned at the brash young man. “Why do you care so much? You’re not my husband.”

This time, it was Clay who, despite some lingering nervousness, leaned close. And that remaining nervousness dissolved with the scent of the woman. “No, but if we’re gonna fuck tonight, I want that ring on your finger while we’re doing it.”

Wendy leaned back, somewhat surprised at the kid’s bluntness. A smile crept slowly across her face, parting her silky red lips and revealing her bright white teeth. She gave him a short nod and reached for her clutch, resting on the bar between them. She snapped it open, dug around inside, and pulled two rings from within.

The fingers of her left hand spread before her, long red nails gleaming in the faint overhead light, Wendy slowly slid the diamond-encrusted wedding band on her ring finger, twisting gently to ease it over her second knuckle.

“Better?” she teased.

“Almost.”

Wendy smiled at the young man as she slid the engagement ring on. The light from above, while dim, caused the ensemble of diamonds to glitter brightly in Clay’s eyes.

“How ‘bout now?”

“Much better.” He again took Wendy’s small hand in his and bent, kissing the back of her hand. The three-karat diamond scraped softly across the flesh of his chin as he did.

Clay straightened and took a sip of his beer. The heat from the head of his cock burned into his thigh.

“Not sure your husband should ever let you out of his sight,” he announced, sotto voce.

“Probably not,” she agreed, downing the rest of her drink and ordering another.

“Sure you can handle another drink?”

“Of course.”

“That’s – what? – three now?”

“S’far as you know.”

“Quite a bit for such a little woman.”

“Don’ worry yourself. Loosens me up.”

“I’d rather be the one to loosen you up.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Wendy smiled, lifting her refreshed drink to her shiny lips.

“You gonna take me up to your room any time soon?”

“Soon ‘enough.”

“Have sex me?”

Wendy just shook her head.

“No?”

“I only have sex with my husband.”

Clay was amused but a little confused. “But you cheat on your husband. How do you do that if you have sex only with him?”

Her lips parted in a wicked smile. “I said, ‘I only have sex with my husband.’” She leaned into him again, whispering in his ear. “I FUCK virile teenagers like you.”

Clay nodded his understanding as a chill ran up his spine, but wanted her to clarify the difference for him.

“Well,” she responded, “when Tom and I have sex, it’s nice and slow. Missionary, you know? I might ride him once in a while. He strokes my hair, tells me how beautiful I am, how much he loves me. Very gentle.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but fucking is different,” she began, turning on her stool to face him directly, leaning closer to him. She rested her left hand on his thigh. “When I get fucked, I want to be on all fours, my hair wrapped ‘round some guy’s fist as he yanks my head back. I want sweat pouring off my body.”

She paused and took another sip.

“Pardon me. I want to be spanked. I want to ride young, thick cock in reverse cowgirl, my bald little cunt split wide open with a finger buried deep in my asshole. I want my nipples pinched and twisted. I want to be called filthy names, to be degraded.”

Clay shuddered at the lady’s depravity. “Not gentle,” he muttered, his cock throbbing against his thigh.

Wendy’s emerald eyes bore into his and she slowly shook her head, her dirty blonde tresses whispering over her shoulders; a few loose strands fell from behind an ear, partially obscuring her beauty. “Not gentle at all,” she breathed. “Very, very rough.”

“Let’s get outta here.”

Wendy pushed herself off the stool, her manicured fingers bracing against Clay’s thigh, brushing against his swollen shaft. Her full, wet lips descended on his ear. “Only if you promise to punish my cheating pussy.”

“I ... promise,” he gulped, his mouth parched.

Wendy swiped the magnetic keycard over the lock and, hearing it click, pushed the heavy oak door open, stepping into her suite and flicking on a light.

Clay followed her, coming up behind her as the door swung shut behind him. Circling his arms around her trim waist from behind, he used his chin and nose to edge her dirty blonde locks to the side, nuzzling her soft neck and earlobe. He inhaled her perfume.

Wendy stopped at the contact and moaned her approval as Clay’s hands slid up her torso, his palms brushing over her large tits. Deftly, his fingers found the top button of her white blouse and undid it before continuing to the next. When he had pulled the last button free, he gently tugged the hem of her blouse from Wendy’s skirt and then off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the thick carpet at his feet.

He felt for but couldn’t find the catch at the front of her bra and instead simply yanked the silky fabric out and down, eager as only a teenage boy can be. Wendy’s massive breasts popped from the bra as Clay nipped at her earlobe, the pearl stud clanking against his teeth. He strummed his fingers across her distended nipples before taking them in his thumbs and forefingers, pinching them lightly.

Moaning, Wendy pushed herself away from the young man. She kicked the flats from her feet, one of them thudding against the drywall. Turning, she threw her arms around Clay’s broad neck, draping her supple body against his. Their lips met and her tongue slithered from between her ruby-red lips, probing his mouth while she anxiously lifted his tee-shirt over his head.

Clay groaned into the woman’s mouth, his tongue thrashing against hers, the smell and taste of alcohol strong on her breath. Wendy’s long nails pulled his belt buckle loose and ripped open the front of his shorts. Sliding them down, the adulterous woman squatted, helping him out of his slides before pulling the fabric of his shorts and boxers over his feet.

Kneeling before him, Wendy pushed the seventeen-year-old against the entryway wall, her cherry-red nails pressing into the flesh of his thighs as her soft lips descended on the shaft that bobbed before her face.

There was no subtlety in Wendy’s behavior. She wrapped her slender fingers around the thick cock, circled her full lips, and slid them down the length of Clay’s veiny shaft, not stopping until the fat mushroom-shaped head bumped against the back of her throat. She pulled back, half of the thick shaft protruding from between her lips, and jammed her face back on it, causing her to gag. Saliva poured from her mouth, rendering a glossy sheen to her ruby lips. It slid down her chin and dripped to her jutting breasts as she bobbed her head back and forth.

Above her, Clay braced himself against the wall with one hand, placing the other on the back of her head in a redundant effort to guide what didn’t need to be guided.

Wendy moved in closer to the young man, dropping to her haunches, and cradled his heavy balls, kneading them in her slender fingers. Her own spit dripped from her distended nipples as her fingers strayed from the hanging sac to the sensitive perineum toward his asshole.

Clay shuddered and his knees almost buckled at the sensation. With Wendy’s shiny lips sealed tightly around his invading shaft, the engorged head pushing against the back of her throat, his cock lurched in the hot sucking mouth and she backed off.

Wendy pulled her face from the young man’s crotch and slowly regained her feet, leading him by the hand into the living area. As she approached the couch, her phone chimed. PROBABLY TOM, she thought. She gave it a mental shrug and turned and pushed Clay onto the couch. With a bare foot, she prodded his legs apart before kneeling before him again.

His cock still slick with a mixture of her saliva and his pre-cum, Wendy wrapped her fist around the thick girth of the teenager and it easily glided up and down his length. Lifting her torso and leaning forward, her massive breasts cleared Clay’s thighs and settled to either side of his gleaming shaft.

She released him from her grip and placed her hands, slender fingers spread wide, against the outside of her soft but firm breasts. “Tittyfuck me,” she whispered, pushing the globes together, creating a tight cleavage around Clay’s cock.

Clay groaned as the warm, soft flesh molded itself to his veiny shaft and bucked his hips slightly, burying his cock in Wendy’s breasts. Pre-cum leaked from the winking tip of his cock and was swept away by her flesh, leaving it glistening.

In front of him, on her knees, Wendy raised and lowered her torso, dragging her soft tits up and down the length of Clay’s shaft. Perspiration formed across her forehead and at her upper lip from the effort.

“That’s it,” she whispered when Clay bucked his hips again. His eyelids fluttered and rolled, and the head of his cock gently nudged against the underside of her jaw. “Fuck these tits.”

She pressed her torso harder against him and the sensitive underside of his cock coursed over her chest bone.

“Oh, God,” the seventeen-year-old moaned, his large hands falling to the cushions, gripping them tightly.

Wendy increased the speed with which she rocked against him, the tightness of her tits pulling at the skin of his shaft, her breastbone crashing against the base of his cock.

Clay’s head thrashed from side to side against the back of the couch. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered, his tongue thick. His cockhead turned a deeper shade of purple and lost its texture, taking on a smooth and shiny appearance.

Before his balls could release a torrent of scalding cum across her lubricated tits, Wendy released them, leaving Clay’s cock bobbing before her. Standing, she shoved her khaki shorts down her taut thighs and wiggled out of the panties that adorned her damp crotch.

Kicking the thong from her feet, she fell into the corner of the couch, lewdly spreading her lithe legs. “Get down there and lick my cunt,” she demanded through hooded eyes. She hooked a dainty foot over the back of the couch, planting the other flat on the floor, lightly slapping two fingers against her sopping pussy, a wet smacking sound emanating from between her legs.

Catching his breath, Clay slid from the couch to the floor and crawled between the married woman’s wide-spread legs, her inner thighs glistening in her own juices. Needlessly, he placed a hand on each of her smooth thighs to ensure that her legs remained open to him.

Dipping his head toward her bald pussy, Clay inhaled the scent of her before allowing his tongue to dart from between his lips. He ran the tip up one thigh and around the flesh surrounding her pussy, careful to avoid her splayed labia and inflamed clit.

Above him, Wendy moaned her delight, her long, slender fingers running through his hair. “Yesss,” she hissed. “Eat ... me.”

Clay’s tongue continued its journey down the opposite side of her cuntal opening and circled around to the crack of her ass. He traced the tan line that ran along the junction of her toned leg and her hip, across the top of her cunt, and down the other side.

“Nice little shaved cunt,” he muttered before wiggling his tongue against her perineum.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

Flattening his tongue, he dragged it up the furrow created by her flowered petals, applying increasing pressure as his head rose, forcing his tongue to penetrate the adulterous hole. Wendy bucked against his face and her fingers grasped at his short-cropped hair, long nails scraping against his scalp.

Clay pulled back and his wet lips hovered just above her inflamed clit. “Shave it for your husband?” he inquired, taunting the older woman, hot breath blowing across her clit.

“Uhn-ugh,” she moaned, arching her back, trying to shove her burning clit against the young man’s strong tongue.

Her efforts were in vain as Clay pulled his face and protruding tongue away from her. “Then who?” he whispered.

“For ... me,” she grunted. Her slender fingers slid to the back of his head, nails digging into his scalp, and she pulled the young man’s face into her leaking cunt.

Clay’s tongue slithered from his mouth and flattened again, pressing against Wendy’s engorged clit as she pulled him close.

The older woman whimpered, reveling in the exquisite pressure against the inflamed nub. She released her grip on the back of his head long enough to allow him to swipe his broad tongue down and then back up the crevice formed by her slick lips.

When Clay’s tongue flattened against her clit again, Wendy bucked into his face, smashing his nose against her pubic bone, and groaned hard. “Oh, fuckkk!”

Her nails dug deeper into the young man’s scalp. Her pubic bone slammed into his nose, almost drawing blood. The overheated walls of her cunt opened up and a mess of wetness squirted from between her splayed lips, splashing against his chin and chest and leaving her lower half awash in the slick fluid.

Her hips still bucking against Clay’s face and his tongue still smashing itself against her clit, Wendy removed a hand from the back of his head and brought it to her chest, squeezing a massive tit, the flesh oozing between her fingers. Her thumb and forefinger found an engorged nipple and twisted roughly, and another stream of woman-mess sprayed from her quivering cunt.

Clay’s eyes watered and his nose stung. From between the woman’s thighs, he watched as the muscles of her stomach rippled and undulated, a sheen of perspiration glistening across the taut, tanned flesh. A bead of sweat, and then another, ran down her lightly made-up cheek before dropping to collect in the hollow of her clavicle.

Wendy’s body was still shaking and quivering when Clay pulled his drenched face from between her lewdly spread legs. He knelt upright and knee-walked closer to her. The fat head of his cock pushed at her sodden cunt and he thrust his hips forward. The molten state of her cunt allowed his cock to slide halfway into her in one thrust.

Taken by surprise, Wendy twisted her torso in pleasure-pain, her substantial tits rolling across her chest. She plastered her pretty face and bulging tits against the back of the couch. “Oh, God,” came her muffled scream as Clay withdrew his cock before slamming it back into her yielding cunt.

He took firm hold of her pliant hips as he jackhammered his thick cock into her. Her ass cheeks rippled with each inward thrust and Wendy moaned into the back of the couch. He released her hips from the grip of one of his hands, the marks of his fingers lingering on her damp flesh, and wrapped her dirty blonde hair in his fist.

He pulled back on her blonde tresses, now disheveled, and Wendy’s head pulled up. She turned slightly and peered over her shoulder at her young, male aggressor. Her eyes were alight with lust and her lips curled into a sneer, Clay’s heavy sac slapping against her exposed clit with each thrust.

“This ... what ... you wanted?” he grunted, a stream of sweat streaking down his cheek.

“Fuck ... yesss,” she hissed, droplets of spittle spraying from her lush lips.

“This ... how your ... husband ... treats you?” he taunted the married woman, slapping her left ass cheek with his free hand.

“Nnnnghnnn!” Wendy groaned, Clay’s hand leaving several red imprints on her flesh as he spanked her. “Oh ... god ... no.”

Still yanking on her blonde mane, using it like the reigns on an untamed horse, Clay pushed her over, exposing more of her tight bottom. A drop then another of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose and fell to her rippling ass.

Clay’s middle finger strayed from her ass cheek and swept his sweat from her crack, sliding it toward her crinkled asshole. He swirled his lubricated finger around the tight anal ring and Wendy jerked.

“Fuck,” she panted through gritted teeth as the nail on Clay’s probing finger scraped across the sensitive flesh of her sphincter. He released his grip on her silky hair and pushed her face into the back of the couch, his middle finger breaking through the seal of her tight asshole.

“Uuhhgg,” came another muffled moan from the unfaithful wife.

Wendy twisted her petite body hard against the assaulting cock so that she was flat on her stomach. Her sudden movement pulled Clay’s finger from her asshole and a pathetic whimper escaped her slender throat.

Behind her, his cock still firmly lodged in her cunt, Clay lifted his right knee from the floor and wedged it beneath her right leg, spreading her already lewdly splayed legs further. Sweat shimmered along the tanned flesh of her back and collected in the small of her back.

“Look ... at you ... whore,” he tormented. “Some strange ... cock ... buried ... in you ... Bet your ... husband ... would be ... ashamed.”

Wendy’s muffled response was unintelligible, her face shoved roughly into the corner of the couch. Clay again gathered her lustrous mane in his fist, pulling her head up, her chin resting on the low-slung arm of the couch.

“Fuck ... yeah ... he would,” she spat. “My daughters ... too.”

“What a filthy ... little ... fuckhole ... you are,” he grunted, his large hands mounting each of Wendy’s quivering butt cheeks. He roughly pulled them apart, exposing the wrinkly asshole distorted by the thick cock buried in her yawning cunt.

Clay hung his head and allowed a profuse amount of saliva to fall from his lips. The wad of spit landed square on the misshapen ring of her asshole. He used two fingers to spread the lubricant around before sliding them into her butt.

“Fuck!!!” Wendy nearly wailed, her fit body jerking and convulsing below him. Cunt juice squirted from her stretched hole, splashing against the conjoined couple before streaming down their thighs, soaking the couch. Her body continued to jerk, her cunt muscles contracting rhythmically around Clay’s thick shaft, as he pounded into her in measured but powerful strokes.

As her orgasm subsided, Wendy gasped for breath and again turned her head over her shoulder, her glinting emerald eyes burning lustful holes in him.