I am an established fashion designer in my mid forties. Alistair, my late husband, was a psychologist .he’d developed a very successful private prac...ice. We lived in a charming Devon country home by the river Fen near Fenley in the early eighties, a beautiful unspoilt typically English village situated just three miles away from our home. Ben, my gardener and odd job man, kept everything in top notch. He knew exactly how I liked the flora. His work was impressive and, like the woman I am –. . the senorita, Marie ... what of Marie?The Agency director scanned the latest report to come up from McMurdo Sound. This was a packet of files from the station's science mission director. Of course, the mission director himself had not sent the reports; this bundle was courtesy of the Agency mole on the team's payroll. Normally he would just glance through them, looking for any summaries or conclusions to save himself hours of pointless reading. But this report was different. He buzzed his. He was always the more romantic of that little group. I pressed the START switch and turned around to embrace Buddy. He licked up my ears and cheeks and ran his fingers into my hair. He said, “Poppa wants a kiss.” I kissed him again with a little tongue. He shook his head and looked down. He was opening his pants and pulling out a flaccid cock. “No,” he said. “This poppa right here wants a kiss.”“Aw,” I said, taking it into my hand and rubbing the loose skin. “Wakey, wakey,” I said to it, to. She wanted, even needed him to release another hot load into her. She could feel his cock pushing into her forcing her to stretch the sheath around him. His cum adding lubrication for their rubbing skin. As Janet’s thoughts centered on his cock inside of her she sped up her efforts knowing he needed to release more. Her breathing quickened in time with her hips not noticing John’s breathing or jerky movements as he tried to keep up with her. She opened her eyes to watch him as his face screwed.
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