Husband And Wife Fucking At Home In Viral Hardcore MMS

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‘Mmm.’Jason took my chin in his hand and gently turned my face towards him, moving over me slightly and brushing his lips against mine a few times before he really pressed his mouth to mine.‘Mmm.’ I turned over so I was facing him, opening my mouth to his tongue. From my face his hand drifted down, rubbing over my neck and shoulder, my waist, caressing my breast.Then it drifted between my legs, to cup the heat there between them and slowly explore and pleasure.‘Mmm ... Bryna, you’re already soaked,’ he murmured into my neck, kissing it. ‘Were you waiting for this or something?’‘Yes,’ I managed, arching into his touch. I reached over to push down his pyjama pants and boxers, grasping his stiff cock. Somehow I managed to giggle. ‘Ooh! You’ve been waiting too, haven’t you--big brother?’I purred the last words, stroking his cock slowly, and felt him twitch in my hands.‘I love it when you call me that,’ he hushed, starting to breathe deeply. ‘It just seems so erotic.’ He whisked my panties. And the flow took me back where I had been: erect and ready. Amber smiled at her own success, adjusted her grip on my cock, still secreted between us, and held her position. She looked around the tree again, quickly, and back at the crowds near the bathrooms, and the thought suddenly found its way to me again that I had a wife, that she was here, and that she was not far away. That realization caused me to actually jump, and to try to look around the tree as well, to find Cindy and see if I’d been discovered. With her left elbow, Amber shoved me back against the tree, never loosening her grip on the cock. She looked up at me, saying sternly, “I don’t want you thinking about her; I only want you thinking about me.”I did as I was told, and she leaned even closer to me, tightened her grip on my privates even more, looked into my eyes, and went back to work on my manhood. Whispering again, she said, “I want you to give me one more of those, and I want you to fucking empty that.
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There had to be a story there, and Luke liked stories. Stories were why he'd come to the city in the first place. He wanted to be a writer, and couldn't do it on his parents' farm. He needed—craved—the continuous hum of life he'd found in the city. His father had been furious, wanting Luke to keep the farm going, but as much as he loved the farm, it just wasn’t in him to stay there. Never mind that his younger brother, Keith, was more than happy to run the place. As the oldest son, his father had considered it Luke's obligation to run the farm and they hadn't spoken since Luke had left. No, Luke needed his stories. He heard plenty of them while driving the carriage—and his taxicab—and he found himself often putting stories to people that he saw on the street. He'd tried to do that with Emma, but hadn't found the right one. No scenario he dreamed up seemed to fit her, and he wondered why she was so hard to pin down. "Stop staring." Sol thwacked Luke's arm. "What's with you?" "Nothing..

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