She could fuck her pussy with either a small ear of golden cock or she could ram it hard with the Indian corn she raised, she love that kind, it was s... hard and the colors reminded her of her black lovers. Ramming the tool deeper into her hot pussy, Natalie pinched and pulled at her perk nipples, through her shirt. Thrusting her natural cock into her cunt, she pushed her shirt up and toyed once more with her lush breasts. The hairs of her sex were slicked with the wet juice that the corn kept. Marc was between jobs but had plenty of plans for the future. The problem was that she wasn’t sure if all of those plans included her, or even when he expected that future to start. If she wasn’t included, well, she was an independent girl. And in some ways it would be a relief to escape the silly arguments that took place everywhere other than the bedroom. She would enjoy the last rites of their relationship rather than worrying about what was going to happen and right now, that enjoyment was. I'll be honest with you, the "Roaring Twenties" are a pretty shitty time to be a cop. But I'm not complaining . . . too much, at least. I like what I do; I may be pretty cynical, but I still believe that I can make a difference in the system. And luckily, most of the cops I work with believe the same thing. The police force wasn't always this way. Hell, before the turn of the century, most of the cops were on the take, or so I've been told. I was barely three at the Millenium, so I don't. We stepped inside the hallway as Hubby closed the front door then dashed upstairs. I’ve no idea why he rushed upstairs, so Steve and I walked into the lounge, still exploring each other’s mouths with our salacious tongues. I guided Steve to one of our high backed chairs and indicated to him to sit. I turned on the music system and some grinding drum and bass music filled the audible space of our lounge. I began to dance for my guest, rotating my hips and pushing my shaved pussy back and forth..