Since they were leaving, it didn't seem like it would be worthwhile to give the girl a tumble and he was waiting on Mrs. Primgrass. Mrs. Agatha Primgr...ss to be specific, the bereaved widow of the recently departed editor of the local newspaper.Blackie recalled the soft feel of her haunches rubbing hard into his groin as she left town only a few short days ago.There she was!Agatha Primgrass was still wearing the standard black garb of mourning widows. She had deleted most of the frills such as. “Vir- hic- ginny, you, you see...” I heard the sound of her butt thumping to the floor dangerously close to my head. Her palm went back to stroking my chest and I felt her lean up against the side of my arm. The fullness of one of her breasts pressed against one of my knuckles and I squirmed ever so slightly, the leather straps straining and creaking against the tension I was placing them under. But, alas, they were well made. And they did not break. And Sally kept talking. “Back in. This was no hostile invasion though, this was the willing receiving of the intrusion of her into me. I sensed she knew this. As her movements increased gradually in pace so her body curled over mine. Nipples almost scratched me, so hard were they against the flesh of my back. Her hands caressed me, then gripped my hair, forcing me to arch my back and neck as she began to thrust into me. Now the fire had passed and the pleasure began in earnest. A hand slipped around and under me to strum on my. " My hand started rubbing his shaft faster, squeezing a little harder. I moaned at the sound of my hand stroking him, faster and faster."Do you like that? Do you like that you stretch my small, tight pussy open every time?" God yes," He whispered. I whimpered softly. Even after all this time, his Scottish accent made me weak in the knees. He had one hand against the shower wall, supporting his weight. His head was hanging down as he watched my hands stroking his shaft. "Do you like watching?.