Dan spent last weekend up at his parents' house in the suburbs. It was one of those dead weekends. Many of his friends were out of town, working, or too tired to go out. On Friday before he left, he called Steve Morgan's cell phone again in one last-ditch effort to try to get something going but was greeted only by voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message, threw some clothes in a backpack, and drove up to his parents' house.

They were surprised to see him lounging on their couch in the television room when they returned from a dinner party later that evening but were nonetheless thrilled at the prospect of having their baby boy home for the weekend. Dan joined his parents Saturday for breakfast and helped his mom around the yard with what was left of the morning. When he checked his voicemail around lunchtime, Steve had called.

"What's up? It's Steve. Got your first message and saw you called again. Sorry for not getting back to you. I'm up in the 'burbs this weekend. My parents are having an engagement party for Kari and her fiancé tomorrow, so I came up this morning to hang out with them. I'll give you a call next week."

"Hmph," Dan said to himself, deleting the message. Before he and his dad left for the club for golf and a few drinks, he tried Steve again.

"Hello?"

"Steve?"

"Yeah. Dan. What's goin' on?"

"Same as you, my friend. I'm in Winnetka for the weekend."

Steve laughed. "How funny. What are you up here for?"

"Nothing goin' on downtown, so I got out for the weekend."

"Yeah, I thought it was going to be kind of a dead weekend, so I came up today instead of tomorrow just to hang out."

"Let's grab a few drinks later. I'm going to the club with my dad in a little bit. Why don't you meet us there around six or so."

"Well, I'm having dinner with my parents tonight. We're just going over to Hackney's, the one on Lake. Why don't you meet us over there after the club? We'll have dinner with my parents and maybe go to Meier's for a few drinks."

Dan paused.  He hadn't seen Mrs. Morgan since their coupling in that suite at the Ritz so many months ago. He recalled the event vividly: the parting of the sexy top to reveal her artificially inflated tits; the smoothness of her shaved cunt as the wine bottle slipped between her slick labia; those plush red lips wrapped around his thick cock, saliva dripping down the shaft.

Absently, Dan reached for and readjusted his thickening cock. "Um."

"Come on! It won't be that bad. My parents are pretty cool. Mom's mellowed out a lot," Steve chided him.

"I know," Dan responded defensively. "It's not that. I just don't want to intrude on a family thing."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just me and my parents. Kari and Jake won't be there, and Betsy doesn't get in until tomorrow morning. We'll be there around seven, maybe seven-thirty. See ya there," Steve finished, clicking off.

Dan stood there a minute, holding his phone. More images raced through his head. His best friend’s mother bent over the bed, his cock thrusting into her from behind; her bald cunt lowering itself onto his shaft, each inch disappearing into her slowly; her blond hair spread out on the comforter, his cock squished between those massive tits, her manicured nails and wedding and engagement rings just inches from his leaking cock.

But this could be awkward. How would Mrs. Morgan react when he appeared at Hackney’s? Would she be embarrassed? Sheepish? Or would she play it off with her typical bitchiness? Probably the latter. ‘On second thought, this could be fun,' Dan thought to himself. He shrugged internally, and then bounded up the steps to his old bedroom, rummaged through his closet for shorts and a shirt that wouldn’t upset the golf pro, and changed.

*

Outside the club, Dan gave his dad a quick hug before jumping in his car. "Say hi to the Morgans for your mother and me, and be safe. If you drink too much, give us a call. One of us will come and get you."

"No problem, Dad. You guys have fun tonight. I'll probably be late, so I'll see you in the morning." Dan turned the key in the BMW's ignition, backed out of the parking space, and drove up to Lake Street, then over the Edens Expressway to Hackney's. He was running a little late; it was almost eight when he pulled into the parking lot. He saw Mrs. Morgans' Range Rover and pulled into an open stall two spaces down.

Entering the restaurant, he quickly found them in one of the side rooms; they and another couple were the only patrons in that room. As he approached the table, Mr. Morgan rose, extending his hand.

"Good to see you, Dan," he said heartily, vigorously pumping Dan's hand. Mr. Morgan was a tall, well-built man, graying at the temples. His grip was firm and confident. His cheeks were a little red, hinting at the fact that he had already downed a few cocktails.

"You, too, Mr. Morgan. It's been a while, huh?" he said, circling the table toward Mrs. Morgan. He flashed an innocent smile her way. She returned it with a fake one.

"Too long, kid," he heard behind him. "You oughta come see us more often."

"Hi, Mrs. Morgan," Dan said with a broad smile. "You look fantastic as ever."

"Thank you, Dan," she responded. The sarcasm dripped from her tongue, or so he thought. Perhaps he was just reading into things, knowing the things about her he knew, knowing that her husband and son didn't know them.

After giving her a chaste hug, but one that lingered just a little longer than necessary, Dan sat, his back to the wall. Steve sat across from him, Mr. Morgan to his left, Mrs. Morgan to his right.

"Let's get the waiter over here and get you a drink," Steve suggested, turning around and signaling the waiter. When he appeared, Dan ordered a drink and the Morgans began placing their dinner order. Dan added a simple cheeseburger to the order.

They engaged in small talk for a while, waiting for their meals, and getting caught up with each other. How's work? Same old, same old. Any girlfriends? Here and there. How are your parents doing? Great; they asked me to say hello. That sort of thing. Though careful not to stare too long in Mrs. Morgan's direction, Dan could not help but drink in her beauty.

Throughout their conversation, she twirled a wineglass between her slender elegant fingers, tipped with a French manicure. Given the summer months, her lean, tanned and slightly freckled arms were bare to the conditioned air. Her blonde tresses were pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing teardrop-shaped platinum earrings dangling from her earlobes. Dan had never seen her hair pulled back in such a manner, but liked it; it highlighted the high cheekbones and sensuous jawline of her face. Her baby blue eyes danced from her husband to her son to her son's best friend as the conversation flowed, pausing more often than not on the young man seated to her left.

"Don't you agree, Donna?" she heard her husband ask.

"I'm sorry, honey. What did you say?" Mrs. Morgan raised her wineglass to her shiny red-stained lips. As she did, her wedding rings caught the light of the restaurant, sparkling despite the dimness.

"It’ll be great to have all the kids home, don't you agree?"

"Of course, honey," she responded, setting her empty wineglass on the table, lipstick smeared along the side of the rim closest to her. "It doesn't happen often enough, what with Betsy living in San Francisco now."

When their meals arrived, conversation was reduced to a minimum as the Morgans and their guest cleared their plates. Occasionally, Dan cast a sideways glance toward Mrs. Morgan, trying to be discreet but almost groaning in his throat. The top two buttons of her white cotton oxford blouse hinted at the immense cleavage within, the fabric stretched tautly across her tits. Though it would require him to stare too long to confirm it, Dan thought he detected the slightest suggestion of thick nipples pressing through her bra, almost tenting the blouse. He shifted to relieve his discomfort.

When Mrs. Morgan finished her meal, she began to rise. "Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen," she pleaded and walked from the table toward the rear of the restaurant.

"Women are incredible," Mr. Morgan intoned once she was out of earshot, taking a long pull from his scotch and soda. "If I had to go to the bathroom, I'd say, 'Excuse me, I gotta go to the bathroom.' But not women. They simply say 'Excuse me.'"

Both Steve and Dan chuckled at his observation, but Dan barely paid attention. Over the top of his glass, he watched Mrs. Morgan as she strode away from them. A conservative khaki skirt that stopped three-quarters down her thighs, swooshing slightly back and forth as she moved, hid her tight little bottom. Tan, lithe legs extended from beneath the skirt, ending in a pair of Prada slingback heels.

She soon returned amidst talk of the Cubs and the White Sox and the coming football season. The table ordered another round of drinks as their light conversation continued. When the drinks arrived, Mr. Morgan took another large gulp. He must have downed two or three drinks in Dan's presence, and that didn't count the two or three he probably had before Dan even arrived.

"I have to go the bathroom," he announced, standing up.

"I'll join you, Dad," Steve said, following his father to the bathroom.

When they were gone, Dan cleared his throat. "So," he began confidently. "How've you been, Mrs. Morgan?" His eyes bore into hers as the older woman brought her wineglass to her shiny full lips. He could see wariness, and uncertainty, there.

Swallowing the thick, red liquid, she responded, "Lovely, Dan. I've been lovely." She paused, twirling the stem of the glass in her manicured fingers. She ignored him, her eyes focused on her fidgeting hands.

"Tell me, Mrs. Morgan, did you end up getting your asshole stretched that night?"

Dan's brazen tongue caused her to jump. She looked behind her to see if the couple sitting nearby had heard him; thankfully, they had left sometime during the Morgans' meal, leaving them alone in the room. When her gaze returned to the impetuous young man seated to her left, they were on fire. "Watch your mouth, Dan. Don't think for a minute that what happened gives you the right to disrespect me like that."

As she took another drink from her glass, Dan looked at her quizzically. "Disrespect you? I don't disrespect you, Mrs. Morgan," he said genuinely. He leaned forward, his right hand reaching beneath the table for her left, which rested in her lap. "Not at all. I respected you when you let me suck on your fake tits."

Dan's hand found hers beneath the table. When their skin touched, Mrs. Morgan pulled back, the diamond of her engagement ring scraping along his palm.

"I respected you," Dan continued, "when you were sitting in my lap with a wine bottle shoved in your cunt."

"Fuck you," she spat, the malevolence obvious in her eyes.

"Yes, I respected you then, too." He glanced toward the main part of the restaurant. Mr. Morgan and Steve had finished in the bathroom and stopped at the bar to refresh their drinks. Dan again reached for Mrs. Morgan's hand under the table, gripping it tightly, feeling the four-carat diamond press against his palm, her long nails biting into his skin. She resisted, but it was a weak effort.

"I respected you when you had my cock trapped between those things," he continued with a nod at the married woman's chest. "But you know when I really respected you, Mrs. Morgan?"

She turned her head from him, breaking eye contact, and didn't respond. She took another nervous sip of her wine, her eyes floating toward the ceiling as though she were praying that Dan would go away.

"Well, let me tell you. I respected you the most when you were bouncing around on my lap with my fingers in your pussy while I was talking to your son on the phone."

"You are SUCH an asshole," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"You didn't think I was an asshole the last time I saw you."

Her sparkling blue eyes were softer now, but by no means kind. "That shouldn't have happened, Dan, and you being here like this is awkward. And then for you to sit here and say the things you just said?" She paused and shook her head, again looking to the ceiling. Her voice was barely audible: "Fucking asshole."

"You enjoyed it, though, didn't you Mrs. Morgan? Fucking me? Fucking someone so much younger than you? Your son's best friend, no less?"

Mrs. Morgan again looked at Dan, and then cast a glance toward the bar. Her husband was paying for their drinks, her son beside him, laughing at something the bartender had said.

"I'm going to fuck you again, Mrs. Morgan. You can be sure of that."

"Stop, Dan."

Dan paused, considering. "Tell you what. Steve and I are going to Meier's for a few drinks after dinner. I'll drop him off, and then come back later."

Mrs. Morgan shook her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth, but remained silent.

"Mrs. Morgan, I am going to fuck you in your own house, with your husband and son sleeping upstairs." As the wicked words spilled from his lips, Mrs. Morgan's eyes shifted back and forth between her family at the bar and this insolent young man whose hand was lightly rubbing her inner thigh.

Before she could respond, Mr. Morgan and Steve got up from the bar. Dan quickly withdrew his fingers from between Mrs. Morgan's thighs, instantly missing their warmth, their silky smoothness. She tried valiantly to hide her anxiety as they rejoined Dan and her at the table.

"Whaddya say, honey? Should we get the bill and head home?"

Mrs. Morgan simply nodded and her husband signaled the waiter for the check. "Come on. I'll take care of the bill, and meet you guys outside."

While Mr. Morgan waited for the check, Mrs. Morgan, Steve and Dan walked from Hackney's and across the parking lot toward their cars. As they approached, she dug in her purse for the keys to the Range Rover. "Damn," she muttered.

"What's wrong, Mom?" Steve asked, stopping beside the SUV. Dan continued to his car, parked on the other side of the Range Rover.

"I think I left my keys inside. Would you be a sweetie and go see if they're there?"

"Sure, Mom," Steve responded, trotting back to the restaurant, leaving his degenerate mother with his equally depraved best friend.

Mrs. Morgan slowly came around the front of the Range Rover, putting it between the restaurant and Dan's car. He stood at his open door, one foot resting on the door sill. Her heels clacking on the tarmac of the parking lot, Mrs. Morgan strode to where Dan was standing and stopped, her augmented tits just inches from the top of his muscular stomach.

She looked over her shoulder through the tinted windows of the Range Rover to make sure no one could see them. When she turned back to Dan, she placed one manicured hand behind his head and pulled him down to her, their lips meeting and mashing, her tongue darting between his lips and shoving into his mouth. She cupped her free hand and rubbed Dan's growing cock through his pants.

She pulled back after a few seconds, releasing his cock, and put a manicured finger to his lips, wiping the remnants of her lip gloss from him. "Get him drunk. Have him back by midnight," she whispered. "You come back at one. I will fuck you like none of your stupid little girlfriends ever has."

She again looked over her shoulder to see her husband and son coming across the parking lot. She moved away from Dan, the long, shiny nails of one hand tracing down his heaving chest, giving a slight tug at his belt buckle, and called out, "I found them, Steve."

"Good, 'cause I didn't," Dan heard, trying to catch his breath as he eased himself into the car. The Range Rover beeped twice as Mrs. Morgan hit the remote and climbed into the passenger seat, her skirt rising to expose more of her long, lean legs. She shot Dan a lust-filled glance as Steve came around the back of the cars and got in beside Dan.

*

Dan pulled into the Morgans' driveway at almost exactly midnight. Fifty yards in, it forked, the right fork leading to a courtyard in front of the Morgans' house - it was more of a manor, to be honest - the left leading off to the side towards a detached coach house that the Morgans had converted into a four-car garage. Dan took the right fork to deposit Steve in front of the massive oak doors fronting the house.

Getting Steve out of the bar had been no easy task. "Come on, just one more, then we'll go," he had complained.

Dan was having none of it. "Let's go, shithead. You'll thank me in the morning." He finally convinced Steve that his mother would be rather upset if he appeared at his sister's engagement party with a raging hangover.

Steve got out of the car with a promise to call the next week. Dan turned his car around in the courtyard and slowly made his way back toward town to the only open convenience store. He was, of course, stalling, as he had an hour to kill. After buying a Gatorade, he drove around for a while, ultimately ending up back near the Morgans' house.

He couldn't park on the street at this time of night without the police writing him a ticket, so he doused his lights and pulled into the driveway. He slowly rolled up the pea-gravel path and took the left fork, which led him back toward the old coach house-cum-garage. He circled around the side of the manor, following the driveway, and came to a stop underneath an ancient oak tree. Silently, he opened his door and exited the car, shutting the door behind him with only a barely audible click.

Being familiar with the Morgans' property, Dan easily made his way in the dark to a flagstone path that led from the driveway and through the backyard. It wound between the house, landscaping and a swimming pool, ending in a large veranda arranged with tables, chairs and lounges. Dan weaved between those obstacles before coming to a stop before double French doors, one of which was slightly ajar.

He slowly pushed the door open, cringing as he waited for a hinge to squeak. Hearing nothing, he pushed the door open further, stepped through, and found himself standing at one end of the Morgans' long kitchen. Before he could move further into the house, Mrs. Morgan appeared in a doorway at the far end, her luscious body silhouetted against the light streaming in from the television room.

"You're late," she whispered, flicking a dimmer switch, and turning the kitchen's overhead lights on low. She was still dressed as she had been at Hackney's, though her blouse was now untucked.

"Sorry. I--," Dan began before she interrupted him.

"Sshh. Not so loud." She crooked a finger at him, beckoning him toward her. As Dan approached, she moved aside, letting him pass into the television room. The scent of her perfume caught his olfactory attention as he brushed against the lovely woman's warm body.

Dan stopped short upon entering the room. Sprawled on the couch, snoring, was Mr. Morgan. The opening theme to Friends sounded from the television mounted on the wall opposite the couch. Dan turned back to Mrs. Morgan and mouthed, "What the fuck?"

She waved him back into the kitchen and when they were out of sight of the television room, she turned back to him. Placing both hands, palms open, against his broad chest, Mrs. Morgan leaned into him and whispered in his ear. "Don't worry. He's passed out. He'll be there all night."

Dan's cock stirred as Mrs. Morgan's hot breath caressed his neck and inner ear. Her perfume wafted through his nostrils. He shuddered at the heat that flowed from the palms of her hands and through his shirt. He slipped a hand to her hip and pressed her against the kitchen counter, burying his face in her neck.

Leaning back, Mrs. Morgan' wrapped a leg around Dan's calf and an arm around the back of his head, pulling him closer, her manicured nails scratching lightly at his scalp. He kissed up her neck to the line of her jaw, across her cheeks, until their lips met in a lustful frenzy, her bright red lip gloss smearing itself between them.

"Sure you wanna do this, Mrs. Morgan?" Dan mumbled through their mashed lips.

"Mmm-hmm," she moaned back. "But not here," she whispered, pushing him away. Mrs. Morgan pushed herself away from the counter and, taking Dan by the hand, led him back through the television room, past her snoring husband, and down a long hallway that Dan knew led to the library. Upon entering the room, she clicked the heavy oak door shut and hit a keypad on the wall; lights eased on, casting a soft, faint glow across the room.

The room's beat-tin ceiling hovered twenty feet over oaken floors. Bookcases and paneling hewn from the same material lined the walls. A fully stocked bar stood at one end of the room, a full-length pool table at the other. In between were several deep brown leather couches and chairs and dark wood tables, one of which held chess pieces dating to the late nineteenth century cast from ebony and ivory. A painting, eight feet long and four feet tall, of an English fox hunt hung above a massive stone fireplace.

Dan walked past her to one of the soft leather couches and sank into it, waiting for Mrs. Morgan to make the first move. It didn't take long. Her heels cracked against the oak floorboards, the sound deadened as she reached the Persian rug, she sauntered over to the couch and stood before him, hands on hips that were cocked to one side. "Do you remember how I like to be fucked?" Mrs. Morgan inquired, her voice low and husky.

"I remember everything, Mrs. Morgan." Dan settled further back on the couch, hands in his lap, legs slightly spread.

"Tell me. How do I like it?" Her hips swung the other way and her store-bought tits bobbed with the movement.

"You like it…a little rough."

"Mmm," she responded through hooded eyelids. Her hands traveled up her lithe torso to her silicone-filled tits, her fingers running over the tight fabric that stretched across them. "And what do young men do with these?"

"Squeeze them…squish them."

"And these?" she inquired, the thumb and forefinger of each hand grasping at her distended nipples.

"Pinch…and twist…and pull." Dan rubbed the palm of his hand over his thickening shaft, coaxing it along his leg.

"And bite, right?" she asked, her eyes wide with false innocence.

"Right," Dan managed to respond as Mrs. Morgan's fingers released her nipples and popped the topmost button of her blouse. She stared intently into the young man's eyes as she pulled the remaining three buttons from their holes. Sensually, she shrugged the top from her shoulders and Dan watched as it fluttered to the rug beneath her heels.

Mrs. Morgan reached behind her and quickly released the catches of her overworked bra. The straps slipped off her shoulders, but the cups caught on her overfilled flesh; a simple shake set the bra free and it, too, fell to the rug. Dan groaned at the exposure of her massive tits, a thick teat perched at the end of each.

With both hands, Mrs. Morgan reached behind her to unzip her skirt; the movement caused her wobbling tits to thrust forward. Dan couldn't tear his eyes away from the distended nipples; they begged to be sucked and twisted and bitten. He could feel the intense heat of his cockhead smoldering against his thigh.

His eyes traveled down the woman's taut, tanned stomach as she released the zipper on her skirt and it whispered down her thighs to pool around her ankles. Mrs. Morgan was without a thong or panties of any sort, and his eyes feasted on her bare cunt, its full lips flowered open.

"And what about this, Dan? What do my boy toys do with this little treat?" she questioned, her manicured fingers gliding over the tender folds of her pussy, dipping into the crevice formed by her lips. She extracted a small amount of fluid on one finger and rubbed it over her clit, a groan escaping her slender throat and shiny lips.

"Anything…they want?" Dan moaned, his palm now vigorously rubbing his cock through the constricting fabric of his pants.

A broad smile crossed Mrs. Morgan's face, flashing her brilliant white teeth. "Good booooy," she rewarded. She took a step toward him, then another, and brought first one then the other leg over Dan's reclined body, straddling him with her knees on either side of his hips. "And what are you going to do to my cunt?" she whispered, placing her full lips next to his ear, breathing hot breath.

"Fuck…it," he managed.

She chuckled before leaning back on her haunches, her tight ass resting on Dan's knees. With her left hand on his shoulder, Mrs. Morgan prompted Dan to lie down on the couch, moving with him. She kicked a leg over his prone body so that her damp cunt hovered over his fresh face.

Bracing herself on her arms, she looked down at her body, her massive tits swaying from her torso and her splayed cunt lips hovering just inches from his nose. "But first, you're going to eat it." Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Morgan dropped her bald cunt to Dan's face, the tip of his nose parting the folds and quickly becoming drenched in her juices. She leaned forward a bit, dragging her exposed clit along his nose and over his lips.

Dan's wet tongue darted out, sliding along the baby-soft flesh that bordered her well-used hole. He dipped it between her slick folds and groaned at the taste of her fluids as they exploded across his tongue. Mrs. Morgan moaned as his strong tongue searched for and located her inflamed clit, manipulating it with small, tight circular movements.

She let her elbows relax and dropped to her forearms, burying her beautiful face in Dan's clothed crotch. Baring her teeth, she pulled the button of his pants loose, a free hand drawing the zipper down. With a fervor, her left hand snaked its way into his boxers, her cool fingers closing around the overheated shaft, drawing a guttural but muffled moan from the young man beneath her.

Mrs. Morgan wasted little time pulling the thickening cock from the confines of Dan's boxers and, as soon as it was free, she dropped her wet, red lips around his head, swiping her tongue across the sensitive purple flesh, eliciting another muffled groan from between her legs.

Dan arched his back, sending his cock deep into Mrs. Morgan's hot mouth, and managed to wiggle his arms free, locking them around her waist, and pulling her tighter to his face. His tongue assaulted the married woman's sopping cunt lips and engorged clit, nibbling at the sensitive nub. Her fluids dripped from her hole and over his face, coating his cheeks in honey-like wetness.

As he continued his assault on Mrs. Morgan's clit, she developed a rhythm of her own, her soft, full lips gliding up and down the length of Dan's shaft. She gripped the length of him in her left hand, holding his cock steady and upright as her lips clung tightly to his pink flesh, pulling it taut on the downstroke and letting it slacken on the upstroke.

Dan groaned as the back of her engagement ring caught on the veins of his cock. His long, strong fingers squeezed her ass cheeks tighter, pulling her cunt harder onto his face, crushing her engorged clit between her pelvic bone and his chin. He pulled her ass cheeks apart, his fingers inching closer to her exposed asshole.

When he sunk his tongue deep between the bald folds of her cunt, grinding his chin up against her inflamed bud, Mrs. Morgan's body jerked and her wetness flowed from her pussy and into his mouth, nearly choking him in the thick fluid. Dan's cock slipped from her mouth as she trembled through the mini orgasm, but her hand remained tightly fisted around his cock, tugging and pulling it.

As her breathing returned to normal, Mrs. Morgan pushed herself off the couch and to her feet. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him from the couch and led him around it to the pool table.

"You're gonna fuck me right where my husband entertains his friends."

Approaching the pool table, she turned and lifted her tight little ass cheeks to the mahogany side bumper, spreading her legs wide. Her wet cunt glistened in the dim light cast by the table lamps near the couch, beckoning Dan to move between her legs. As he did, Mrs. Morgan wrapped the fingers of her left hand around his bobbing shaft, stroking it smoothly, feeling the heat of his cockhead burn into her palm.

When she pulled him closer, placing the head of his cock at the slick opening of her cunt, Dan took the initiative, reached behind her taking hold of that taut little butt, and slid his length into her, parting her soft cunt lips and taking her breath away. "Yessss,” she hissed as the young man pulled out and rammed his cock back into her. "That's the way…I like it."

When Dan drove into her cunt again, the force of his push slid her ass off the side bumper onto the felt, leaving a trail of cunt juice along the bumper. Mrs. Morgan placed her arms behind her, leaning back and bracing herself on widespread hands, her bloated tits wobbling on her tan chest.

Dan withdrew again. “What do you want, Mrs. Morgan?  What does that little cunt need? he taunted, just the tip of his cock remaining inside the older woman's cunt.

"Hard…cock,” she responded, her baby blue eyes, alight with lust, locked on his.

Grabbing the side rail, Dan shoved his cock back into her yielding hairless cunt. Mrs. Morgan's eyes eased closed, a grunt escaped her slender throat, and the fake tits her husband paid for shook on her torso, mimicking Jell-o scooped from a bowl. "Like that?" Dan teased, withdrawing again.

"Harder," she hissed, her bright eyes snapping open and burning into him.

Dan again slammed into the married woman but this time kept his cock buried in her, trapping her burning clit between their bodies. A mewling sound emanated from somewhere in her throat. "Rough enough?"

Mrs. Morgan's eyes fluttered open and a smile flitted across her sensuous mouth. "Faster, boy toy," she demanded.

Easing the pressure on her inflamed clit, Dan withdrew until just the head of his cock remained ensconced between her slick folds, and then brutally pounded his cock back into her. He held it there only momentarily – to squash her fattened clit between their bodies – before withdrawing and ramming back into her.

The force of Dan's thrusts, despite Mrs. Morgan bracing herself, started to slide her across the felt of the pool table. It bunched up behind her, threatening to rip. Not wanting his cock to slip from the smoldering depths of her cunt, he climbed on the pool table after her.

Mrs. Morgan rotated around so that she was lying length-wise along the table, her legs still spread lewdly, Dan's cock still buried in her cheating hole. Rising up above her, he let the full weight of his body fall, forcing his thick cock deep into her cunt, almost knocking the wind out of her.

Her legs pushed up on his thighs, her small, heel-clad feet bobbing behind him, Dan hammered into Mrs. Morgan's little body, forcing grunts from her lungs and throat. He leaned into her further and dropped his face toward one of her fake tits, sucking the nipple and a good amount of the flesh surrounding it into his hungry mouth, gently washing his tongue across the inflamed teat.

Releasing it, he skipped the gentle licking of her other tit, instead trapping the nipple between his teeth and sucking hard. Burying his thick shaft in her, grinding her clit against their bodies, Dan scraped his teeth across the sensitive flesh of her throbbing nipple. "Rough enough now?" he taunted after spitting the nipple from his mouth.

"Fuck yeah," Mrs. Morgan groaned, her lithe tanned arms stretched above her head, her arched back forcing her tit-flesh toward the ceiling. She thrust her hips at the invading cock, begging through action to be fucked harder, faster.

Dan returned his attention to the first nipple, at first gently licking it but then taking it between his teeth. Mrs. Morgan bucked as he increased the pressure on the tender flesh, compressing the nipple between his teeth, his cock burying itself repeatedly in her soaking cunt, crushing her clit between them.

Her body trembled at the abuse levied by the young man, the kid who was her son's best friend. An orgasm upon her, her legs shook and a heel from one of her feet slipped off and fell to the pool table before clattering to the floor. She pulled Dan's face tighter against her inflated tits, her manicured nails scraping across his scalp, gripping his hair.

"Oh, gawd…I’m cumming," she moaned, her athletic little body shuddering as her cunt tightened around the young man's cock. "Harder…bite me harder!" Dan's teeth pinched at her sore nipple. “Nnnnghnnn!”

Mrs. Morgan rocketed through an orgasm, sweat pouring from her forehead and down her cheeks. Beneath her, the felt of the pool table was darkened with her perspiration. She wished for a mirror on the ceiling right now. She wanted to see herself. She wanted to see her long blonde hair spread across the deep green fabric covering the pool table. She wanted to see her lithe legs spread wide, her feet bobbing up and down, her heels banging into the young man's ass.

She wanted to see her elegant fingers clinging to the back of her boy toy's head, pulling his face into her silicone-filled tits. She wanted to see her son's best friend's tight ass thrusting up and down, knowing that on the other side of him, a thick, veiny cock was stretching her slutty cunt. She wanted to witness her own depravity, her own immorality, firsthand.

These thoughts somehow coursed through her mind as the orgasm tore through her cunt, singed her nipples, and fired through various synapses in her brain. Mrs. Morgan was pulled from her reverie as the convulsing of her body slowed and Dan pulled his face from her massive tits and his cock from her sopping pussy.

Momentarily, her baby blue eyes eased open to the sight of Dan's cock just inches from her lush red lips. He was standing over her awkwardly due to the presence of the light rack above the pool table and was bent at the knees, his thick cock slowly descending toward her full lips, her cunt juice dripping from the shiny head to land on her chin.

She remained still, her eyes fixated on the shaft as the head disappeared from her view and brushed against her mouth. Her lips parted almost involuntarily, and Dan dropped his hips a few inches as his shaft slipped into her warm, wet mouth, her lips closing tightly around him. "Feel better, Mrs. Morgan?" she heard from above her. With her mouth full, and her lips stretched, she could only nod her head.

Dan raised himself again, his cock popping from Mrs. Morgan's mouth, a red stain from her lipstick encircling his shaft just short of his root. He knelt and straddled her, resting his muscular ass on her taut stomach, his thick cock bobbing before him and right above her firm tits.

“My turn then.” He leaned forward so that his cock fell between Mrs. Morgan's over-inflated tit-flesh, the head buried right in the center of her cleavage. "Wrap those things around my cock, Mrs. Morgan," he commanded.

Mrs. Morgan's hands went to the sides of her tits and bunched the gelatinous flesh up around the thick pink shaft with the shiny purple head. Dan pushed forward, groaning as his flesh caught on hers and pulled back, causing his cockhead to flare brightly, but his cock slipped up and out of the warm tunnel.

Mrs. Morgan slipped her hands up the sides of her tits and shoved them together, her fingers interlacing. Dan again drove forward and his cock remained firmly trapped between the married woman's swollen tits. The perspiration slicked across her chest and her cunt juice dripping from his cock maintained enough lubrication as he thrust into her makeshift fuck hole a few times.

Dan then looked down at Mrs. Morgan's chest to see his cock trapped there, and groaned out loud, his eyes screwing shut to block out the image that could coax the cum from his balls in a matter of seconds. Mrs. Morgan's bloated tits were crushed around and mashed against the length of his shaft. Her thick, distended nipples poked out from between her long elegant fingers. Hovering not an inch above his thick, shiny cock were her French-manicured nails and absurdly large diamond ring, glittering in his eye.

Even after closing his eyes, Dan could not will the image away. He slowly slid his cock between the fake tits, shuddering each time his cockflesh was pulled taut by the friction between them.

"Open your eyes," he heard in a faint voice. He opened them and stared into Mrs. Morgan's beautiful face. Her eyes were aglow with lust and showed a sparkle of amusement. Her full red lips parted and her wet, pink tongue swept across them before she spoke again. "Not at my face, boy toy," she added, dipping her chin toward her chest.  She lifted her head from the pool table, her mouth drawing closer to that fat cock stuffed between her tits, and spit on the young man’s cock.

Dan's eyes followed her lead and were again assaulted with the image of his cock trapped between her huge tits, now slick and dripping in Mrs. Morgan’s saliva, her manicured hands and engagement ring floating above his shaft.

"I love your thick, young cock between my tits," she whispered in a gentle voice.

Dan slid the length of his shaft up through her cleavage, his heavy balls smooshing against the underside of her mountainous tits.

Still softly, still warmly, she continued, "I love having young cock between these fake fucking tits."

Groaning, he again pushed his thick shaft through the spit-slickened tunnel created by the firm mounds, the head of his cock bumping against the soft underside of her jaw.

"Know what I like best, though?" she taunted, smiling through her baby-blue eyes.

"Ugh-uhn," he managed, shaking his head, driving his cock into her cleavage, her breastbone firm against the underside of his veiny cock.

"I like having…Steve's best friend's cock…cumming all over…my face…and my tits."

Dan's eyes nearly rolled up into his head as Mrs. Morgan released her grip on her tits. She wrapped her left hand around his trembling shaft and tugged gently but firmly. "Keep 'em open, boy toy," she commanded, a wicked smile appearing on her lips.

Dan's eyes focused on his cock, this time trapped in the fist of his best friend's mom, her engagement ring staring him in the face.

"Watch as I stroke you, Dan…I know what you're looking at." Mrs. Morgan picked up the pace, her hand shucking back and forth over the length of his shaft. "I know you like having my hand wrapped around you…my diamond ring screaming at you."

She lifted her head and spit on his shaft again, adding lubrication to her efforts. "Cum, boy toy," she commanded, her hand almost a blur on the thick, young cock. "Cum on my married face!" Dan could take no more and his eyes slammed shut and he threw his head back. "Cum on my fake tits, Dan…cum…on my…fake as fuck…tits!”

Dan shoved his cock into Mrs. Morgan's fist and held it there. She gripped tightly at the base of his shaft, her thumb pulsing against the underside of his cock. She held him so his cockhead was lined up with her cleavage, chin, mouth and nose. In short, staccato strokes, she pulled on him and felt him jerk. She stared intently at the head of his cock, watched as it turned various shades of purple, and went from dull to shiny to polished.

Suddenly, the tip opened. At first, a thick drop of white, viscous fluid spilled forth, splashing on her chest. But when Mrs. Morgan pushed against the base of Dan's cock and squeezed the underside of the shaft near the root, a thick stream of cum shot from the tip and landed rope-like across her nose, lips and chin. "Oh, fuck," Dan groaned, shoving his cock deeper into her tightly gripping fist.

Another rope of sperm surged from the flared cockhead, reaching to her chin but largely collecting between her wobbly tits. As a fourth stream spilled from Dan's balls, Mrs. Morgan still jerking roughly at the base of his cock, the cum that collected between her tits slid down to her neck and collarbone before dripping from her tanned shoulders and puddling on the green felt of the pool table.

Above her, Dan panted, sweat dripping from his nose and chest, as he caught his breath. His thick cock started to go limp in her stroking fist, and Mrs. Morgan released him, using her clean hand to wipe the cum from her face.

His breath returning to normal, his heart rate decreasing, Dan leaned forward, dragging the tip of his cock along her substantial cleavage. Her wet lips parted and took his soft shaft between her equally soft lips, sucking and nursing on it, savoring the taste of the remnants of cum that dripped from him.

Before he was hard again, he leaned back, again resting his ass on Mrs. Morgan's firm belly. He held up his hand for her to see: the Number 1 Yellow ball.

Without waiting for her to respond, Dan stretched an arm behind him and found her spread thighs. He rolled the ball up the inside of her left thigh, slowly and firmly, until it reached her splayed cunt lips, and from there he rolled it up the slick furrow to her inflamed clit.

Mrs. Morgan gasped at the coolness and hardness of the object, her eyes going wide, not in fear but anticipation. "Nasty boy," she grinned.

"Nasty bitch,” Dan responded as the ivory orb, slick with her fluids, slipped from his hand and clattered to the felt-covered slate. He reached further behind him to find it and placed it between her flowered cunt lips and pushed. Beneath him, the slutty wife and his best friend's mother squirmed with some discomfort as the sphere parted her lips and began to stretch her cunt lips wider than Dan ever could.

"Want me to stop?" Dan teased her, ceasing his efforts to push the ball into her sopping cunt.

"No." Her voice was hoarse.

He pushed the ball in a little further, though it was difficult. "You sure?"

Mrs. Morgan merely bit her lower lip and nodded her head, unable to speak.

He pushed the Number 1 ball harder and its apex slipped through her cunt opening. She writhed beneath him, her massive tits wobbling on her chest, her thickened nipples bright red. "Uuuggghhh," she grunted. "Soooo…fucking…biiiiig…stretching…meeeee."

Dan's fingers slipped from the slick sphere up to her burning clit, all the more exposed as Mrs. Morgan's cunt lips were stretched taut. Trapping the engorged bud between two fingers, he began a slow circular motion as the mother of his childhood friend squirmed beneath his ministrations. As his fiddling increased in speed, so too did the pressure that his fingers exerted on her clit. "Oh my god," she moaned, her eyes screwed shut tightly. "Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmi."

Mrs. Morgan's hips took on a life of their own, bucking up against Dan's two-hundred pounds planted firmly on her stomach. She twisted her pelvic bone, trying to increase the intensity of the pressure on her burning clit.

"Oh fuck! O fuck! Ofuck! Ofck!" she groaned from deep in her throat, twisting her torso this way and that, her head thrown back. Her lithe body went rigid for a moment before relaxing again in a frenzy of jerks, quakes, and trembles.

The Number 1 Yellow ball slipped from her sopping hole as her cunt muscles relaxed and convulsed, relaxed and convulsed, alternately gripping the ball and trying to eject it from her abused cunt. It landed on the felt-covered slate with a thud before rolling away, leaving a trail of her wetness behind it.

Dan remained atop Mrs. Morgan as she rode through her orgasm, his assaulting fingers keeping a steady beat across the tender flesh of her clit. When her body finally settled, porn-star tits still quivering atop her tiny chest, sweat streamed from her pores, leaving her naked body glistening from the light rack that hung above the pool table.

"You are a sick fuck, Dan," she breathed, her eyes still hooded in post-orgasmic bliss.

"You're pretty depraved yourself," he responded with a smile, climbing off the prone woman and from the pool table. He lent her a hand as she scooted her sweat- and cum-soaked body to the edge of the pool table. On her feet, she bent to retrieve the heel that had been kicked off earlier.

As she kicked the other one off and threw them both on the couch, Dan led Mrs. Morgan by the hand, her ostentatious diamond rings pressing into his palm, from the library and back down the hallway toward the television room. They padded across the hardwood floors behind the couch upon which Mr. Morgan had passed out. When they entered the kitchen, Dan whispered to her, "Where's the olive oil?"

Mrs. Morgan pulled her hand from Dan's and entered a pantry off the kitchen, reappearing with a glass bottle bearing a black-and-gold label. "Come on," she whispered, reaching for his hand to lead him back to the library.

But Dan avoided her grasp, instead taking the bottle from her. "No. Right here," he whispered back, unscrewing the cap.

"No, Dan. Not here." Her voice was barely audible as he poured a little of the oil into his hand, reaching behind her and spreading the slippery fluid across her tight ass cheeks. "I said no. Let's go." His fingers wormed their way between her tightly clenched cheeks, and the tip of an oily finger teased her clenched asshole. "Please," she begged weakly. "Somewhere else. Just not right here."

Dan didn't respond to her. He merely turned her around and pushed her against the kitchen island. She braced herself, arms stretched before her, French manicured nails standing out against the dark granite countertop.

Dan stepped up behind his best friend's mom, tipping the bottle of olive oil over his cock, liberally coating the length of his shaft before dripping some over her upturned ass. With his free hand, he smoothed the oil along his flesh and spread it toward her tight asshole. Mrs. Morgan groaned at his ministrations, her eyes fluttering; when they were open, she could look into the television room and see the top of her husband's head over the back of the couch.

When Dan slipped first one and then a second finger into her lubricated asshole, she let a groan escape her slender throat. "Oh, shit," she muttered. "Please, no." But her protestations were feigned. She reveled in this. Fidelity was something that Mrs. Morgan had long ago forsaken, but never before had she been bent over like this in her own house with her husband in the next room. Her damp cunt dripped at her debauchery, slicking her inner thighs.

Dan remained behind the bent-over housewife, two fingers working the oil into her tight asshole, stretching it, making sure that she would be able to accommodate his thick cock. With his free hand, he reached around and roughly massaged a hanging tit, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Twisting her nipple, feeling Mrs. Morgan writhe beneath him, Dan placed the shiny head of his cock at the entrance to her oil-slicked asshole and slowly pushed against her. She sucked in her breath as his head parted her gripping anal ring. When the thick mushroom head slipped past, hot alcohol-tinged air rushed from between her shiny lips. "Oohh, ffuucckk," she moaned, dropping her chest to the counter, her lean arms sliding out in front of her. Dan released his grip on her inflamed nipple, and her massive tits flattened against the cold granite.

Gripping her pliant hips tightly in his hands, he pulled back just a little before pushing into Mrs. Morgan's asshole again. An inch or two slid in, causing a heavy groan to gurgle in the adulterous woman’s throat. Back out and back in again. He was having trouble sliding the remainder of his cock into her.

He released one of her hips and reached for the bottle, pouring more oil along the length of his shaft when he pulled out again. Replacing it on the counter next to the heaving woman, her cheek pressed against the cold countertop, Dan put both of his hands on her tanned shoulders and pulled her back against him. This time he was rewarded as the remaining length of his cock slid into Mrs. Morgan's struggling anal hole, his pubic bone crushing against her upturned ass cheeks.

Having fully penetrated her, he began slowly slicing his cock in and out of her stretched asshole, holding tightly to her shoulders. In the background, he heard the theme song for another episode of Friends. The only other sounds in the kitchen were their respective grunts, the squeaking of Mrs. Morgan's massive, store-bought tits as they slid back and forth across the cool granite countertop and, occasionally, the dancing of her long nails or the clanking of her wedding rings against the granite…and Mr. Morgan’s uneven, labored snores.

Once he developed a rhythm, Mrs. Morgan moved a hand between her legs, her slender fingers finding her exposed clit, manipulating it against the pads of two fingers. Behind her, Dan maintained a steady pace, burying his cock to the root on each penetration, as her breathing became ragged. Releasing one of her shoulders, he grabbed at the unfaithful mother's ponytail, pulling her made-up face from the counter and guiding her back on his cock.

"Oh, fuck," she grunted, somewhat startled by Dan's aggressiveness. The fingers of her ring hand continued to play over her inflamed clit and her hips jerked haphazardly against the shaft invading her from behind. He knew she was on the verge of orgasm and battered against her upturned ass with increased force; her ass cheeks rippled at each intrusion.

But without warning, Mrs. Morgan removed her hand from between her legs and pushed herself up from the counter, causing Dan's cock to dislodge from her stretched asshole. "Let's go somewhere else," she panted. "This is frustrating."

Dan still had her pinned against the counter and wrapped his muscular arms around her from behind, his searching fingers finding her thick nipples, brushing against them before lightly pinching them between forefingers and thumbs. "What's frustrating about it, Mrs. Morgan?" he inquired, breathing into her ear through a few stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail.

"I just…wanna moan…and groan…and scream," she managed, her breath beginning to return to normal.

"I didn't know you were a screamer," Dan responded, moving back a little, giving her room to maneuver.

Still facing away from him, her eyes locked on the top of her husband's head, Mrs. Morgan reached behind her with her left hand and took Dan's dripping, overheated shaft in her fist, stroking him. "I've got a young…fat…cock…in my ass…How could I not…want to…scream?"

Dan groaned as Steve's mom's wedding rings slid across the ridges of his cock, but released her nipples and took a step backward. "Let’s go, then,” he said, patting her lightly on the ass.

Mrs. Morgan moved around the counter and back toward the television room, pausing at the entrance to ensure that her husband was still asleep. Satisfied that he was, she turned back to Dan and indicated with a nod of the head that he should follow. The two moved silently through the television room and back down the hallway to the library, oil dripping from between her rubbery legs, from the tip of his bobbing cock.

She entered the library first and, without pausing, pranced across the floor to one of the leather couches. Behind her, Dan shut and locked the massive oak door and turned to where she had retreated.

Her knees planted firmly on the center cushion of the couch, her torso draped across its back, her arms behind her, manicured nails pulling her tight ass cheeks apart, Mrs. Morgan leered at Dan over her tanned shoulder. "Get over here and fuck my asshole, kid,” she snarled.

He was already moving toward her and did not break stride as the filthy words spilled across the lips of his best friend's slutty mother. He stepped up behind her and, with one hand, steered the purple head of his cock toward Mrs. Morgan's stretched anal opening, his other hand holding him steady against her left hip.

As his cockhead brushed against her anal ring, Mrs. Morgan's pulling fingers inched closer to her asshole. The picture of his shiny head poised at the entrance to her asshole, with her long, French-manicured nails holding herself open for him, the diamond of her engagement ring sparkling in the dim light of the room, etched itself forever in Dan's catalog of mental imagery.

Groaning, he pushed forward, his thick cock sliding into her easily now. Once firmly seated, he raised a bare foot to the leather of the couch and placed both of his strong hands on her pliant hips, his cock matching the pace it had achieved in the kitchen.

"Oohh, ggaawwdd," she moaned. "Sooo much better." Mrs. Morgan jammed her hips back against the young man, cherishing the way his thick cock pulled at the snug ring of her asshole, the sensations that shot through her cunt as his heavy balls slapped against her hairless cunt, tickling her clit. She steadied herself and again brought a hand between her legs, gliding over her exposed clit, feeling her cunt juices spread themselves over her long fingers. "I love…that fat…young…cock…stretching my…asshole!"

Dan grunted at Mrs. Morgan's lewd tongue but maintained his pace, slicing his oily cock in and out of her tight ass. Dropping to his knees on the couch behind her, he pushed the slut’s hips against the back of the couch and reached around to cup her wobbling tits, trapping the thick, throbbing nipples between his knuckles, pinching them hard.

She yelped in surprise and winced in pain, but any protest was quieted as Dan buried his cock to his balls in her asshole and held it there, twisting his hips and stretching her now tender asshole even further. His left hand released the raw nipple from its grasp and slid down her quivering stomach to her cunt, pushing her hand aside. He coated a few fingers with Mrs. Morgan's juices and brought them back to the nipple, the lubricating fluid soothing against the sore flesh.

He did the same to her right nipple before brutally taking both nipples between his fingers and twisting them hard. Mrs. Morgan braced herself against the back of the couch, screaming out, "Oohh, ffuucckk!"

He placed his lips against her left ear, whispering hot breath. "Want me to stop, Mrs. Morgan?" He knew it was a needless request.

"Fuck…no," the corrupt wife and mother hissed, jamming her hips back against her son's best friend, trying to get more of his thick cock buried in her asshole.

His cock still slamming into her, Dan twisted Mrs. Morgan's obscenely thick nipples further, again whispering to her. "You're a little nipple whore, aren't you?"

When she responded only with grunts and groans, her slim hips still trying to coax more cock into her anal opening, Dan pulled down on her nipples, distorting her enormous tits as they were pulled away from her trim chest. "Tell me, Mrs. Morgan," he commanded, giving a harsh tug at the deformed mounds of flesh and silicone.

"Yessss," she hissed again, burying her face in the back of the couch, lipstick smearing the soft leather. "Abuse my nipples."

His fingers still gripping the substantial teats, Dan used them as reigns to pull Mrs. Morgan's huge tits to the side of her body before leaning against her and pushing her torso against the back of the couch. The effect kept her tits spread to the side and squished against the leather, plainly visible from behind.

Releasing her pained nipples and placing a hand between her shoulder blades to keep her there, Dan moved upright and resumed his battering of Mrs. Morgan's stretched asshole, his free hand slapping her tight ass cheeks alternately.

"You're a…nasty little…slut…Mrs. Morgan.”

"Mmmm," was all he heard in response, her pretty face having been buried in her own hands, bracing herself against the brutal ass-fucking she was taking at the hands of her son's best friend.

He reached below her and his fingers brushed against her sopping clit, the lubrication from her cunt coating them instantly. He strummed two fingers across her clit repeatedly and Mrs. Morgan sucked in her breath. Her body tried to heave and jerk at the illicit contact but was still held steady against the back of the couch.

"You gonna cum, Mrs. Morgan?" he taunted, his fingers speeding across her slippery clit.

"Mm-hm," she moaned.

"Gonna cum…on my fingers…you sick…fuckin’…whore?"

Mrs. Morgan merely jerked beneath him.

"With my cock…in your ass?" he continued to goad.

Mrs. Morgan's head shot up from its resting place, her ponytail whipping back and slapping across Dan's chest. A rush of breath swept across her lips. "Ooohhh, ffuucckk!" she spat, turning her head and presenting her pretty face to Dan. "Keep doing that…to my clit," she moaned, her breath erratic and her body convulsing beneath the broad, insistent hand that had her pinned to the couch.

Dan increased the speed of his fingers across her abused clit and his cock continued to fuck into her tender asshole as Mrs. Morgan's body heaved and shook and trembled beneath him before going rigid and motionless. Her head still turned toward him, Dan watched as her eyes fluttered and then screwed shut and her shiny red lips parted as if to scream. But no noise was forthcoming.

Instead, the slutty housewife began quivering and trembling again and her head fell to the back of the couch. "Uuuhhh, gggaaawwwddd," she grunted from deep in her throat, her body trying to thrash from side to side, her fake tits squeaking across the sweat-soaked leather of the couch.

Her hips bounced and jerked and jammed the tight ring of her asshole against the sensitive underside of Dan's invading cock, bringing him to the edge of his orgasm. The palm of one hand pushed Mrs. Morgan tighter into the back of the couch, the fingers of the other sinking into the soft, pliant flesh of one of her trim hips.

"Where…do you want…me to…cum?" he managed.

"In my…ass!" Mrs. Morgan groaned. "Dump your…boy-cum…deep in my…asshole!"

Jamming his cock back into her asshole, holding it there, grinding the underside of his cock against her, Dan's eyes slammed shut as cum exploded from his heavy balls, coursed through the length of his shaft, and splattered against the hot, oil-slicked walls of Mrs. Morgan's asshole. He jerked, then again, as his bloated balls ejected a second then third stream of cum, spitting the thick, stringy fluid from the tip of his cockhead.

Cum still dribbling from his cock, Dan pulled back, allowing his shaft to slip from Mrs. Morgan's battered hole. He twisted around and fell into the back of the couch with a "Holy shit," his eyes closed as he attempted to regain his breath.

Slowing, Mrs. Morgan peeled herself off the back of the couch and turned around to sit next to him, her body turned toward him and one leg tucked beneath her, her chest still heaving, heavy tits rising and falling with each labored breath. When Dan recovered, he opened his eyes to find her staring at him.

"Happy now?" she asked, her sweaty body quivering as the boy-cum leaked from her loosened asshole.

"Yeah," he breathed.

"Happy that you forced your best friend's mother to debase herself for your disgusting perversions?"

Dan couldn't tell if she was serious or not. In the end, he didn't care. "Yeah. I am."

Mrs. Morgan just shook her head. "You're still an asshole."

"And you're still a whore."

"Get out."

"Gladly. But I'll be back, Mrs. Morgan," he promised, rising from the couch to find his clothes. "I haven't exhausted my imagination with you just yet."