Her moans and screams and exclamations had been growing louder and less restrained, minute by minute, stroke after plunging stroke.
“Fuck me, Sir!!!” she cried, loud and clear. Since I was already doing exactly that, molto con brio, I interpreted the words as: don’t slow down, I’m so close to cumming.
But the words were distinct, her cry visceral and urgent.
A little bit later, while we were panting and cooling down, I glanced at the bedroom windows. Yup. Open.
The block party next Sunday is going to be a little bit interesting.
— Frenulum
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