Betweenspurts, I slammed my head back down his shaft, and milked him drywith the muscles of my throat. When his orgasm subsided, I liftedmy head and ...azed at him. His eyes shone with love and gratitude. Wordlessly I pulled his head to mine and kissed him deeply.The funny thing was, I never fully realized the "impropriety" ofwhat we were doing until that kiss. Sucking off my son did notseem out of place, but french kissing him did. Well, I was neverone to deal with paradoxes like that, so I. “Please fuck me, Mr.Carter. Fuck me anywhere you want, just fuck me,” I howl out as he rubs my clit. I feel the head of his cock pressed up against my asshole and then some pressure. He pushes hard and manages to get an inch in. I howl out as he continues to withdraw and push into me until all of his cock is inside me and his balls are brushing up against my clit. “It’s so big!” I scream out at the intrusion. My body is completely speared on his thick stalk. “You like this, Anne? You love. But there, as proud as if she’d just won the Miss America pageant, was Miss Muffin-top in a bikini that was a size and a half too small for her. And the men all drooled over her while a dozen topless hookers sat by the water being neglected.The villa was island chic with a lot of terracotta and bamboo on the floors. Air-cooling misters sprayed over the rooms and poolside while huge overhead fans moved the air around so we didn’t stifle. One of the topless beauties met us as soon as we entered. Nothing.Bridgett prepared the RV's second bedroom for her individual occupancy, and moved her personal belongings into it. But when night fell in Minneapolis, she joined me in the back, in the bed we had been sharing.There were large hotels nearby, but we thought it would be better to wait for Ingmar's arrival before leaving the RV. They might arrive at any time.They didn't arrive for two more days. It was Day 14 since what Bridgett had begun to call "The Virus." I adopted the same term for it,.
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