Each time we were in the back seat, John would be making comments. He would suggest that we be careful to keep the cushions clean to tease us.One Satu...day night, we returned home from a failed party and were wondering what to do to save the night. We did not drink too much at the party and we thought a club might be a good idea. But, unable to reach an agreement with our friends on where to go, we just continued driving.In the back seat, George was rubbing my pussy over my clothes. We were both. The slickness on her inner thighs cooled as she walked, but the heat in her swollen cunt didn't. She wondered what was taking her father and Aunt Karen so long and went to investigate. As she neared the storeroom door, she heard some muffled grunts and what sounded like a sob. Suddenly afraid, although she could not have said why, she slowly opened the door an inch."Oh, God, Jack! That feels good!"Her happy new world collapsed around her as she peeked inside. Her father was licking Aunt Karen's. ‘Is someone dripping for me now?’ he taunted, leaning forward and running his fingers up and down her exposed slit. Lacey began to grown as Christopher inserted two fingers into her hot, tight, soaking wet cunt. He started sucking on her clit and felt Lacey vulgarly start to pump her pussy against his face and fingers. Christopher couldn’t take it anymore — he needed to be inside her. Right. Now. Christopher stood up and plunged his dick into Lacey’s awaiting pussy. She was the hottest,. But it was impossible. On a desert island, stranded there for the rest of his life, he would always know what day was Sunday. The stench of it. The holy ferocity and superiourness of it would beat him into a ping-pong ball for ever. But he was 32. And he was trying to get the chords right. Chords. Not cords. Not cords you can use to hang on drapes or cords you can use as tassels on lampshades. But cords you could use to kill yourself with. Your own private garrote. Your own private false.