"Do you have any idea what the penalty for falsifying a CAP card is?" he asked, glancing at the boy's CAP card, "Mr. Duane Ellis?" No." The boy shrugg...d indifferently. Jail time, maybe, he figured. 'Pop will fix it... ' 'Pop' was T. Beckwith Ellis, and he was a Big Man Around Town; Duane had been in trouble before, and Pop had always managed to paper it over... "Counterfeiting a CAP card always seems to travel in company with other offenses," SSG French mused aloud. "I figure I'm looking at six. She moved her hips back and forth, riding me hard. My cock was deep inside her tight puss as she fucked me harder and rougher. Placing my hands on her sexy ass she soon started moaning louder as she started to reach climax again from my cock being deep inside her tight puss and against her inner walls as well as her clit rubbing back and forth up and down my lower belly getting stimulated. Her tight pussy clinched tighter around my cock as she started to orgasm while fucking me. After she. You have to fuck my husband too?!" Cindy teased. "You want it in the ass too?" Mac replied. "UH-uh...not THAT monster.....you go right ahead and gut HIM!" Cindy left and returned holding a steamy cup of coffee in her hands. As bad as the ache in my ass was...my empty belly grumbled at the mere smell of morning coffee. Mac was on automatic now, steadily fucking me....my guts were squishing and grumbling, I was getting sore already and Mac wasn't even close yet. Cindy pulled a stool. More likely get puked on than fucked. When all else fails, go to Ernie’s. Ernie, more properly Ernestine Drummond but nobody calls her that, runs an understanding little bar for dykes down near the racecourse. Understanding because she is one of us. She’s masculine (being kind to her) and nonetheless lovely for it. She always wears a tuxedo despite the fact the bar is less than classy. ‘Standards, Carla darling, standards.’ She once invited me up to her flat above the bar and pounced. Can’t say.