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The smaller man was carrying a couple of large cases. I quickly closed the door. "Who are you?" I demanded."My name is Jack and this is Steve. So do you want to suck my cock or not?" Where did you get that idea?" I responded defiantly. "Your wife, Anne, told me that if I came up here, you'd be my personal cock slave." He demanded."Well, I'm not so sure..." I stammer when Jack's face went from friendly to angry."Listen, faggot, I didn't come here to be denied!" Jack spits angrily. He grabs me around the throat and backs me up against the wall. I realize quickly that there is no way I could defend myself against these two studs. "You're going to be my cocksucker!" he states. At that point everything changes because we both realize my cock is hard. Jack grins wickedly as he looks into my face and grabs my hard cock. "She told me you're a little sissy slut! Steve this faggot is wearing panties and is rock hard! So, are you ready to suck cock, faggot?" My face is red with embarrassment,. By now she was grinding down on my cock like her life depended on it.I had been told to just lay back and enjoy it whilst she did the work for once. Who am I to refuse. I was truly in heaven.If I hadn´t already cum once I would have been on my way to flooding her with her grinding and riding.All I could do was hold on to her ass and help lift her up and push her back down on my cock.Any more than that and she slapped my hands away or told me to stop and let her do her thing.Just as I thought I couldn´t take much more without blowing my load again she started to shout out.“i`m cumming, of fuck im cumming”then it happened, she drowned me.It was a first for me she really came. It was like flood gates opened.I could feel her squirting past my cock, it running down my balls and soaking the bed.As she collapsed on top of me, her lips found mine. Her pussy was still contracting and around my cock, as if still trying to milk the cum from me.After a few minutes just laying there kissing and.
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The streets of his mother’s New Jersey suburb was still and he had fond memories of the quite before he moved to the outskirts of the city. He pulled the bag of bagels from the front seat and let himself into the house. The television was on to some morning news program and Casper, his mother’s Bichon, lay snoring on the couch. Dylan’s mother however, was in the kitchen brewing coffee and looking especially elegant in a dark blue pantsuit, her hair coiffed up. At fifty-seven, she looked better than most thirty year olds Dylan had dated. His mother took care of herself and was proud of the fact. ‘Hi Dill Pickle.’ His mother said, smiling and kissing him on the cheek. Dylan flinched when his mother used his childhood nickname, but he smiled in spite of himself. ‘Hello mother. I’ve brought breakfast.’ He sat the bag on the table and took off his coat. He pulled two coffee mugs from the cupboard and filled them with coffee – his black, his mother’s with cream and sugar. ‘So, tell me.

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