Tom laughed. “That could be interesting.” He picked her up with a flourish, carried her naked into the kitchen for their bottles of wine.“Leave ...he switch alone,” she warned. “I have no interest in being ogled by Mr. Wanstead, or Mr. Teale.”“What about Mrs. Wanstead, or Mrs. Teale?” he queried.She laughed, carried in arm to the fridge. “I have no interest in them, either, Mr. Doyle.” She kissed his cheek as he set her on her toes. Then hid behind the door to keep from being seen when the. She repeated these hand and mouth rhythms: sometimes tenderly with just her finger tips dancing on the glistening skin as it slid in and out of her encircling lips; sometimes she would butterfly flick the end of his engorged dick with her tongue; sometimes forcefully with both her hands clenching the massive circumference, jamming the remaining half of his manhood into her mouth. Hands pumping, tongue flicking, head bobbing, she was really putting forth the effort. His ass cheeks tightened. More

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