I pull Ashley’s shirt over her shoulders, the old Dead shirt that has done a few too many rounds in washing machines over the years but has been a b...tter friend than anyone she knew when she bought it. Her breasts are beautiful, firm enough to free her from the need for bras and just about big enough to give a nice bulge in snug shirts and tops. A handful of dollars, pale riders on a lonesome road through no man’s land.My lips find hard nipples, soft lips and a hungry tongue and a painful moan. She had refused this intimacy to her husband. She would have rather sucked his cock, than let his tongue into her mouth.Now she was transported. It felt like her heart would burst. She would have climbed into this boy's mouth if she could have. A soft whining sound crept up from her chest, a sound new and alien to her.They were wearing many layers of clothing; long underwear, wool sweaters, heavy rubber rain gear, and hip boots. They stood in a rocking skiff, knee deep in dead salmon. They had. After barely kissing a hydrant with his bumper as he peeled away, he pulled over and forced himself to calm down before continuing.Craig was a promoter, a deal-maker, a closer. Contemplation, particularly of himself, was not in his nature. If it had been, the changes in him over the last year or so would have alarmed him. When he had started his little skimming tricks, he had felt invincible. Several years laundering for the mob had made him rich, and he was sure he was absolutely indispensable. “So, doll,” he rasps. “Yous looked like you were having a good time.”Without turning, the girl nibbles on her bottom lip. “I had a great time.” She lets go of her lips and grins. It’s time to see how far she is able to go with the bear. “I don’t think I can do anything else tonight. My pussy is a bit sore from all this fucking the last couple days.”“I understand, doll,” he says, surprising her. “Why don’t you give me some sugar?” She shrugs and leans down to mash her face against his. Secks.