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Not trying to send any messages at all. I tried very hard to just be neutral, to find that harmless space between encouraging him and being rude. He’s looking at my tiny skirt which provides a little shade for my crotch but doesn’t really cover it at all. He can’t see anything. The magazine is resting in my lap. He can see how short it is, though.The top I’m wearing is similar to the crop top I wore yesterday, except this one says “Pussy Galore!” in big black letters across my tits. It had come down to a choice between this or the collection of leather straps which try not very hard to imitate a bra. When I left my house this morning I had been certain I’d be spending most of the day safe at home doing Snake’s laundry. I hadn’t really been concerned about my outfit since I only expected to wear it for a brief time. Now I’m concerned.“I like your outfit,” he said. I finally had to take a look at him. He definitely doesn’t look like the biker type. But that doesn’t mean anything. He. Without thought, my hips joined in, speeding up to the point of feeling like a jack hammer, pounding her pussy. “Oh god, yes!” The cum barreled down my shaft. One more thrust into her and I held it there for a second, exploding. The recoil pushed me back, but I thrust back in firing off another round. Repeating time and time again.“He’s cumming!” Sarah shouted.“Go coach! Fill her up!” The victory chants flowed. “Shoot your load inside of her!” “Empty your cum into her.” “Pound her coach.” “Give her your cum!” “Fill ‘er up coach.” Each phrase was my command. I thrust and pumped. More cum flowed, a seemingly endless supply.I gasped, frozen with my cock twitching in her pussy. It wasn’t deflating, spent and exhausted, but still stiff enough to remain deep. I felt my youth coming back, a new energy siphoned from her that kept me aroused. I knew I couldn’t go another round, but I also knew my cock was thriving. Looking at my work, the pinkish cream outlined her stretched pussy, my cum.
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