Why would we, after all we fucked hundreds of guys together during our wild days in college. We had no secrets then why should we have any now.Wednesd...y is the day I do errands, I buy the food for the next week. If needed I get my car serviced. I drop off clothes at the dry cleaners.I usually have a long list.I had done every thing on my list except the hardware items.I was in Pearson's Home Center buying light bulbs and hinges and a hasp for the storage shed at our beach house at Panama City. And gaze he did. For what seemed hours to the woman lying, her eyes tight shut, striving not to writhe on the chaise lounge. When Rich climbed onto the lounge to kneel between her widely splayed legs Vickie's body tensed. But she kept her eyes scrunched tight, tried to understand why she was still just lying there, and somehow managed to almost control her breathing.When the soft, wet tip of the man's tongue touched the bottom of her slit, then slowly traveled up the moan was impossible to. Today was her thirty-second birthday and tonight she would celebrate it with Rick, her husband of five years. They would go to dinner at some classy restaurant chosen by him, he would present her with a carefully selected gift, and then they would return home to have sensational sex. At least one mind-blowing orgasm would top off a perfect day. Rick Pearson was an artist who specialized in waterfowl art. He was a perennial finalist in the national and state duck stamp competitions. He had won. There was a well in our backyard. My mom used to draw water, wash clothes and utensils out there. Like all South Indian aunties, she used to fold her saree or nightie up to her knees and tie around her pallu while working. It was a treat to watch her thighs and ample cleavage and bosom up from above. As she did most of the work by herself, she was fit and curvy. I got the best views of my mom through the bathroom windows. She had no idea that her own son was into voyeurism and shagging just.