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Her thighs were soaked with the moistness God had incorporated into her physical. Without whispering a syllable, her lyth 18-year-old body manipulated forwarded to rub against the body of the Father. He was young too. He was 55. If there was a noise in the church, it was of two sexually alive people. Rachel and the Father. She was prepared to go to hell, to give this starving man a moment of heaven. Her experienced hands, coiffed with blood red nails and fingers long as the branches on an olive tree – slowly messaged the Father’s lap. She looked into his eyes and could see tears. She saw that this lovely, wonderful man’s mouth was smiling and it wasn’t very long before his body welcomed her touch. Rachel pulled up her skirt. She pulled up the Father’s gown. Like a child and a woman, she sat down on the father’s lap, extending her legs on both sides of his body. Her pussy was about to touch his cock. Her panties were about to rub against his underwear. His cock was growing. And it. It wasn’t romantic or tender. It was an animalistic, primal pleasure that charged on through every thrust my pelvis rammed at her and every joust her tongue hurled at me.My groping hand found its way to her well-rounded bottom as it grabbed her ass cheeks. She lifted her left leg entangling around me. I ran my palms up her calves, her thighs, dragging her dress up along with it. Until there were only her panties between my fingers and her soft ass cheeks.“Keep Going!” was all she could muster. She pulled away from my mouth, gasping for breath from the non-stop smooching. I ferociously latched on the elastic lining of her panty and pulled with might, which ripped open. The sound of the thin fabric shredding bit by bit fueled our urge to devour each other.Her breathing became heaved up, sending waves off her drunk breath into my mouth. “Let’s go to your room,” she said as she grabbed my hand and led the way. As soon as I unlocked the door, she slammed it open. She pulled me inside and.
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