His penis felt like a pressure washer with its nozzle shut off.Sharon’s pussy juice seeped into his mouth and over his face as Willy licked her clit...and tongue-fucked her. He paused when he felt Rose’s mouth vacate his cock, moments before he would have shot his load. But not for long.Willy felt the warm, wet envelope lower itself around his cock until it covered it completely. Her pussy tightened around him once, twice, thrice. Then it rose up again, and down again, again, again, and he pushed. As my mood became irretrievably lost in lust, I began to feel the sentimental surge of romantic memory since it was a pair of her panties that got it all started, or rather, my becoming helplessly engrossed in her used panties and her discovery of my thick cum stain… so I kept my niece’s skimpy pink panties close by for my fondling and smelling, while I waited for her to come home from her first night at her new part-time job at the family-friendly restaurant.She’d insisted I need not drive her. Ken Bolton was his name, and he and I were similar personalities. He was pushing one of those tax scams that would later be known as tax shelters. Ken was a Public Accountant. Not a CPA, a P.A. He had gotten himself a doctorate in economics from some school over in Europe when he was younger, before he came to America. When I met him, he was forty one years old, a big man, on the heavy side of stocky, standing almost six feet tall, with sandy colored hair, and a complexion that tended to be on. I aggressively, then tenderly, called for her love. Her sweet angel tan body, luscious and curved like a motherly swan rescuing me from my low self-esteem. I, in strange, theatrical madness cursed her for her lack of love profession, for loving my face, my hair, my strong, powerful body, but not that crude disgusting thing lurking in my pants. That silent, grotesque lump of God-given clay yet to be molded, for all hope, to die in the dust with the humming of the cortex, those strange fibers of.