But I need to cum. Can you please fuck me and make me cum?!”This just kept getting stranger and stranger… and more torrid! Did she actually just s...y “sir”? Was she getting some ideas from someone at work, the internet, where? I was not thinking about that too closely with my wife’s beautiful ass in my hands and my now extremely hard and leaking dick sticking out towards it. I just leaned forward and started sliding my sword into her hot, wet sheath. “Oh, fuck yes. Pound me!” she uttered while. "I might take these up to my room" signalling to my 2 hot dogs and chips, "you're welcome to come up and watch some TV if you like" I asked in hope he would accept. "What about your parents?" he queried "I'm lucky to have my own room so I can do whatever I like!" looking at him with a cheeky smile "ooooo" he replied bouncing an even cheekier smile right back at me which turned me on a little. He accepted to my joy and we walked up to my room.The best part about it is he had fairly tight. Gently, we move in unison. The wind blows on my partially exposed buttocks, as I move my body in towards his, I move my hands up his t-shirt, feeling every blemish, every rib and feature. Our speed quickens, we kiss and kiss and kiss. I try to slow down, but he is having none of it. He instructs me to move faster, faster, faster. I am out of breath as I reach the plateau. I want to stay at that plateau forever. Faster and faster, his legs around me stiffen, his body muscles clench, his buttocks. Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Alone withthe elevator operator on the way back down, I catch himstaring at my breasts. My nipples are hard from the coolwind up top. “All right,” I smile, and he seemssurprised as I slip his hand inside my top. My trip tothe Arc de Triomphe is not a complete waste, I think, asI make my way towards my ultimate destination – the TourEiffel (toor ee-fell).Walk along the Avenue Kleber (don’t worry, it’s not aFrench word, so.