At that moment, Heather thought of the countless times her husband tested her wetness with one fingertip. The countless times she had secretly wished ...he would plunge all four fingers inside her and make her scream. “More, put more in,” she begged. “Hmmm, you’re a special kind of whore, aren’t you, Heather?” I teased her and withdrew my fingers from her slick hole. “Ohhhhhhpleeeease!” she pleaded, the ache inside her reverberated in her words. “You’ve yet to earn anything,” I grinned and. I mean, I really loved him.Once again there was a tightness in my throat and a stinging at my eyes. I felt a little ridiculous. I averted my eyes to Jason’s cock; it was long and thick and gorgeous with a mushroomed head and just the right amount of veins. I stroked him with one hand and cupped his balls gently in my fingers with the other while he shuddered beneath me.I wrapped my fingers around his generous shaft with one hand and gripped his shoulder with the other so I had enough leverage. Only two houses were in the city limits: the legacy of dream frustrated by local prejudice. A flash from across the cove drew Tom’s attention, he’d heard the Smithton house on the other side finally sold. A 40 something woman descended the stairs to the dock. She carried a light, outdoor lounger, setting it up at the waterside in the bright sunlight. A short, blue terrycloth bathrobe barely concealing her body hung on her curvy frame, and her feet were in white flip-flops. Wide, dark sunglasses. I glanced up from observing her bobbing head. I was taking my daily pleasure today in one of our more common settings. I sat in a leather easy chair in my "drawing room", my half-finished scotch temporarily forgotten on the side table, as the little teen executed her obligation. Behind her was the glass front of a trophy case, in the reflection of which I could enjopy the vision one of my favorite little get-ups. At my insistence, today she had shed her blouse, her little A-cup bra, and her.