I don’t even have to look,” she said in a throaty voice. “Maybe you should look,” gulped Mike, squeezing her ass and boob. “You’re right,...I’d better do a visual inspection to be on the safe side.” Pulling a folding step stool from under a counter, Karen sat down on it in front of Mike. Her head was at crotch level. In a flash she eased Mike’s hardening cock out of the Dockers and eyed it critically. Her red-tipped nail traced its length from base to tip. “Covered in flour, just as I suspected.. “Besides, I probably don’t even know who your husband is.” “My husband is Peter Miller.” Well shit, it turned out that I did know her husband, but not because I was fucking him; he and my husband were golf buddies. I had only met Peter a few times in passing. He was a handsome man with black hair and brown eyes, and until this rather embarrassing moment, I had never met his wife. “Look Mrs. Miller, I swear to you that I am not having an affair with your husband.” Then I said loud enough for. It was on one of those nights, the children were well and truly asleep and the parents were at play. We had no set pattern or order, rather just allowing whatever came into our heads to be the driving force. Spontaneity released any inhibitions and often led to some wild events and explosive climaxes. I remember that I was paying particular attention to Jen's nipples. She loved, and still does, her nipples being given a hard time. Her response was the usual mixture of moans and body thrusts. First he moves them together in rhythm, then he moves the handles one at a time. Suddenly it’s too much. My cries turn into moans; oh my god this feels hot. As the guys move closer to the action I could see their hard cocks straining against the fabric of their pants. It was exactly the response Master Pete wanted; guys with hard cocks ready to feast on a beautiful slave. He started pushing the handles in and out harder, faster as his Bitch cries out in pleasure. Finally.