One guy asked his friend, "What do a blow job and eggs Benedict have in common?" I have no idea," replied his friend with a chuckle."They are two thin...s you don't get at home."Hearing a sound he turned to see an attractive woman in her late forties sit down at the other end of the bench. He nodded and she smiled. She had a lovely smile he thought. Nice even very white teeth. Perhaps she had had them whitened. In any event her smile showed off to advantage. She removed a brown paper bag from her. Our morally flexible ex-military combat medic, 'Chesapeake' Pete, lived in a rather nice beach house just north of Fort Lauderdale, near Pompano Beach and with enough beach-front land that the nearest neighbor was probably out of gunshot hearing range, barring a full-scale war. Actually, the property was owned by his older uncle, Martin DelRey, a cold-blooded shooter if I had ever seen one. His arm tats advertised that he was an ex-SEAL like my father and from the crazy dead eyes in his skull. Our eyes stayed locked as she wiggled around a little before the head slid slowly inside her. Sandy took her time moving up and down. With each downstroke, I saw my penis move a little deeper inside her welcoming womb. Up until now, Sandy's hands were locked tightly onto my hips for balance. But, as she got a little deeper and her breathing became more ragged, I took her hands into mine.Our fingers intertwined, and I pulled her down so that we could kiss. Sandy kept moving slightly and. That shoved it sideways and I felt it split open my vulva. Each time we moved a car length ahead, I felt my pussy got looser and wetter. It was all I could do to stay calm while approaching the Customs Officer. She was an attractive, but bitchy-looking aboriginal Indian, about thirty-five years of age. Suddenly, I wondered if entering the U.S.A. with an ice sc****r wedged in my pussy would be justifiable cause for a cavity search. I held my legs together as tight as I could as we rolled.