Here. God I love her.In the evening for some reason she just wants to be fucked. No foreplay. Just straight in. She wants me on top of her. I fuck her...hard, missionary. I try to position myself differently than I ever have before. To fuck her differently. Like as if I’m not me. Harder, faster, ravenously. Like I’ve been starved of it. She cums loud and long. As ever I try to keep her going for as long as I can. All through this hotwife process her orgasms have slowly got longer, louder, more. Slowly but surely the grinding stopped and John began to thrust into her once again, slowly at first but then he quickened the pace, once again pounding his cock into her, grazing the very deepest parts her. His hands slowly slid around her throat as a smile crossed his face. As he pounded her, he slowly started applying pressure, her gasps and moans became quieted as her face reddened. He let go for a moment, allowing her to catch her breath before doing it again, this time for longer. . “Yes, what have we got to lose?” she asked.“You still can’t sleep through the night,” I said.“I know, but work is what I need,” she demanded.“Okay then,” I said then picked up the phone. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but I agreed to listen.“Mac, where and when do we meet?” I asked.“Meet me at the University Club on Carolina Ave for lunch at noon,” he demanded. “Bring all your work equipment.”“I turned all that shit in after the last job,” I said.“Okay then, make me a list of what you need. But he did not think someone like Lillian would be a good substitute for Heather – or would she? Oh well, he’d never know, he supposed. Lillian drove home. She parked her car and went in. First she had a soak in the bath, and then she stuck a frozen meal into the microwave. She sat down with a can of beer in front of the TV, but none of the channels seemed to show anything interesting. Nothing doing there, she thought. When the microwave indicated her food was ready she sat down at the table.
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