A framed photo of Martha sits on the end table. She's adorable. Blue blazer and a pink blouse complement her practiced smile. You know the one, that dignified PTA-staged grin. A pose perfected for bookshelves or a husband's desk. Lips pressed together in seeming happiness
But she's not faking now.
Granted, I can only see half her face. But ecstasy shines in profile. Martha can't stop grinning, pressed down against this leather wraparound couch. Drool pours from open chapped lips while misty green eyes roll back. Blonde strands of hair bunch around my fist while toned pilates-sculpted legs tremble. Perfection spreads wide and wet as her dew drips onto the leather. So fucking slick. My cock glistens as it catches the lamplight. I never feel bigger than when these soccer moms gasp and moan. The slut's delight fuels the tempo of reentry. Our bodies slap together. Her ass, never highlighted in family photos, shines from the mixture of sweat and lotion. Pale skin marked by my hand.
Martha thanks me in rhythm. She manages gulping lungfuls of air as desperate syllables escape between moans.
"Fucking...hell...Jesus, God, Caleb! How? So good. Sooo fucking good. FUCK!"
I've lost count of which O-pop this is. Martha's been cumming like a water park all afternoon. I pull out, and she loses balance, sliding off the couch, twisting to face me. Her eyes half open, confused by the sudden emptiness. She sees my cock bouncing at mouth level, marinated in her juices. I allow Martha a single lick before pushing her back. My fingers wrap around this thick dick. I aim for those perfect titties them big old bitties. She sees what I'm doing and is always helpful in pushing them together. The fury in which I attack my cock surprises me. Martha opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue.
I explode. Covering face, chest, and some hair. My former Sunday school teacher licks the thick cream from her cheek. I step back, catching my breath. Martha reaches forward as if trying to bring me back.
"Good to see you again, Caleb," she manages to rasp, voice dry and hoarse. "College treating you well?"
Within moments, she's asleep. And I consider leaving her there to be found in an hour when the husband stumbles through. But I'm not yet a cruel man. So I pick her up and take the used girl upstairs. I wash off my evidence and tuck her in, then shower before walking three doors from the master bedroom. Brian's room. I turn on his PS5 and only browse through his library for about 10 minutes when I hear the front door open.
"Yo!" My best friend's voice calls out. "Caleb that your truck?"
"Up here, shithead," I answer. Not a hint in my voice. What the fuck is wrong with me?
He pokes his blond head into the room and grins.
"Fuck, man. Why didn't you tell me you were out of school?"
"Last-minute thing," I say. "Time for some call of duty?"
"You're on, motherfucker."
So I begin my game.
And we're just getting started.
