Two warm soft hands on her bare shoulders, gripping her neck and spinning her round. It was him. She caught his gaze, and looked down. He was naked, e...posed, and excited. She barely had time to gather her thoughts. It had been years since she had seen him like this. He looked better than ever. Her body was on fire. With his hands still on the back of her neck, she leaned to him and they embraced. She had forgotten how soft his lips were on hers, in contrast to the tuft of facial hair grazing. You do it. I suspect you havehad more practice than little old me."George flat-out refused to let Ellen put it inside him. He figured thatenough was enough. He had gone along with everything his wife had wanted upto now, but he wasn't going to let her penetrate him with a wooden lifelikecock. With tightly clutched cheeks, he was making a stand."My toenails may be painted red, but I am putting my foot down, nonetheless.You're not going to stick that up my asshole." No of course not! If it. The tightness of her insides squeezed around his girth enough to deform it slightly at her entrance with the strength of her clutching walls, demanding his girth comply to the small amount of room her flesh held. If not for the copious amount of fluids she was leaking over him, he would not have been able to penetrate her, but her liquids were plentiful, and only wet, warm flesh greeted him.Another couple inches. She groaned, loudly, and her head went limp to hang behind her shoulders as her. My body went limp. He came up after devouring every last drop, kissed my forehead and started sucking on a tit. His tongue, his miraculous tongue swirled around the nipple. I lifted his head off and kissed him, I tasted a little of my juice. We played tonsil hockey for a minute or two. He broke off and whispered, ‘Ready for the cherry popper?’ I nodded, very bravely I thought. My head swam, it was him, Anthony. My perfect Anthony. My baby-sky-blue eyes, my tan dark skin, my muscle pumped.