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“Please come inside me,” she murmured. “Please. I—I want to feel your cock inside my cunt, I have to feel it—please.”
“All right, baby,” he growled. “You want it —you got it!”
With that, he pulled his finger from her asshole and plunged into the depths of her hot, juicy twat.
“Oh, that’s delicious!” she cried. “Give me more . . . give me more . . .”
“Give it a chance, Joan,” he groaned, protesting. He was flat on his back, legs widespread. His head was raised on the pillow so he could watch the horny, disheveled young blonde lying prone on her stomach between his heavy thighs, her head at his groin. She was busy.
She paused in her licking of his balls. His cock was drained, shriveled from their last bout. She hesitated in her avid tonguing and mouthing of the long, limber, sperm-slicked prick long enough to look up and meet his eyes with her own green gaze. She smiled slowly and seductively and then traced the tip of her vixen tongue over her full, perpetually pouting lips.
“Oh, cripes,” he murmured. Joan always turned him on. Always. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, simply because it could have been so many things.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.