“BBC,” he mumbled into her sopping wet pussy as she hovered over him, kneeling in the grass and shuddering through the aftereffects of a powerful orgasm.

“What?” Her head jerked up in confusion, a thick string of spit flopping from his dick onto her chin.

“Beautiful British Columbia,” he clarified, pointing at her licence plate.

“That’s not the part of the plate most guys notice,” she observed wryly, then pistoned her head on his cock until he blew an enormous load of cum down her throat.

“Great sixty-nines,” he whispered to the cedar trees.

“Great sixty-nines,” she giggled. “Fer sher!”