Wham Bam Thank You Mam
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Wham, Bam, Thank You Sam free porn video
My darling husband and I were gathering dust one night, watching reruns of NCIS and eating Hungry Man dinners, when Donald sighs between audacious bites of backyard barbeque, and says, “Our sex life needs a little something.”
“It already has a little something, I replied. Your penis.” I’d already had a couple of wine spritzers.
“I don’t believe that my size, or lack thereof, has any bearing upon my present supposition.”
“Well, if it isn’t your quantity, are you saying it’s our quality?
“Perhaps, in a roundabout way, I am. I mean, let’s face the fornicatory facts. Even when we do partake in acts barely sanctioned by the church and its elders…the end result generally falls far short of our carnal desires.”
I polished off my Salisbury steak and moved on to the complimentary vanilla pudding dessert. I believe Donald scored a rather lack luster mixed-fruit compote. “We’ve been married for 25 years,” I pointed out. “Short of strapping on rubber penguin suits, I don’t see us setting-off neighborhood car alarms with our vociferous screams of orgasmic ecstasy.”
I had fallen into his cunning trap. “That’s because it’s just the two of us. Perhaps if we were to open up our boudoir guest list a little, we could revive a good portion of our moribund bestial ardor.”
The remainder of my pudding could wait. It sounded to me like he’d been reading short porn fiction on the Internet again. “Just what are you trying to say?”
“Do you ever find yourself thinking about other women?”
Now, I have to admit that I have this one friend, Doris? Occasionally, after a couple of post-shopping drinks, I’ve found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss her and let my hands roam freely over that god-given stack, but I wasn’t going to tell Donald that. “No I haven’t, you perverted pig! You want to fuck other women, is that what this is all about?”
“No! No! That’s not ‘it’ in the slightest. I want us to fuck other women…together…as a couple.”
“Well, how about we fuck other guys together? How about that? Feel like taking a big fat one up your truffle cupboard to make us a more loving union?”
“Although I would not wish to personally pleasure or be pleasured by another gentleman, if you should on occasion desire additional male company, then that would only be fair.”
Donald doesn’t usually talk like Perry Mason, so this speech of his had obviously been well rehearsed. I gave it some thought over my last two spoonfuls of pudding and decided to call his bluff. “Okay Mr. Swinger, if you’re serious about this, we’ll start by finding a stud for me and then we’ll hunt around for some desperately lonely woman for you.
To my surprise, he agreed.
So, our salacious search began. I didn’t want it to be some weirdo off the Internet (God knows what icky germs and undesirable personality traits you’re going to run into with the mutants you find on those unsavory “NSA dating sites.”) Neither of us wanted it to be someone we had to work with. I know there’s a whole herd of women out there who pound their puddle all day, fantasying about having their boss drain a gusher into them but that just wasn’t my thing. Now, if I had a better looking boss…
In the end, I really wanted this erotic escapade of his to sting as much as possible, so I said I’d only spread ‘em for one of his friends. I gave Donald the responsibility of picking the guy. Sort of like making a c***d pick the switch you’re going to whip his ass with. My plan was to go absolutely apeshit with lust while this “buddy” went to town inside my horny hotel. Donald would be so traumatized by the sight of all the bucking, fucking and sucking that he’d shut the fuck up about this kind of silly threesome shit for the rest of our marriage and go back to complaining about how I defrost his dinner.
I have to give him credit; Donald took his loony assignment very seriously. He made detailed lists of the positives and negatives, physical attributes and individual hygiene eccentricities of his closest pals. After weeks of madly scribbling notes on pieces of paper and intense chin scratching, a singular name floated to the top of the masculine morass. Sam. I actually quite liked Sam. He was smart and tall and kept himself in pretty good shape. Did I mention how tall he was? Donald had an reasonably adequate hump hammer but when a man is 6 foot 5?….well, it gets a girl to thinking.
Sam was married to a pretty good looking woman but, according to hubby, things were not all donuts and marmalade in the squelchiest room in the house. Apparently, there was a considerable disparity between the two love birds when it came to the amount of “horizontal time” it took to satisfy them. Over many a beer during their endless televisual sporting events, Sam had lamented his paucity of pussy. That’s where my pussy came in…so to speak. Donald was going to wait for an appropriate beer-soaked moment and offer up my services “don la chambre” to make up for this perplexing shortfall at home.
While Donald was putting the finishing touches on his “Wife Giveaway” scheme, I went on a diet and started working out five times a week. If I was going to have to take my clothes off in front of strange men…goddamn it, I was going to give them something worth looking at.
One Tuesday evening, Duplicitous Donny came home chortling and informed me that the offer had been made and accepted over Buffalo wings and Heinekens. Sam would be visiting us that Friday to not watch the basketball game.
Time to ratchet up the partner pain.
For the rest of the week I wouldn’t let Donald near me. I was “saving it” for our guest. The day of, I made a big show of getting my hair done and having a Brazilian. Shit those things hurt! But, this was a hot date and I was going set that fucking bed on fire.
As the hours ticked down to “game time,” Donny seemed to be twice as nervous as I was. About an hour before the reservoir-tip-off, I trotted upstairs with a glass of wine for my last minute girly preparations. By the time I was finished (the preparations and the wine), I heard the doorbell ring. Damn, I should have brought the bottle! I lifted my skirt, tapped my bald bounce-house for luck and head off to meet my meat. As I descended the stairs, Sam was staring up at me with a restrained but decidedly carnivorous look in his eye. It felt really good to have a man drool over me like that again – and for me to be able to reward that man for drooling.
“Hey Sam,” I smiled.
“Hey there Brenda,” he nervously replied. I brushed his cheek with my hand and kissed him sexily on the mouth. Then, I pulled back to see if my husband was going to slug him. I think Sam was waiting to find out the very same thing. Luckily, no noses were biffed out of joint and the evening’s bacchanal could now proceed apace.
“I brought you some flowers.”
“Thank God you didn’t buy me any chocolates,” I joked. “I’ve just lost 10 pounds, so I wouldn’t horrify you when I took my clothes off.”
Gigantic blush! “Oh you wouldn’t horrify me. I mean, I’d love to…that is.”
Sam’s brain was absolutely flailing so I stuck my tongue into his mouth to put him out of his misery. This was starting to be fun. He was so gentlemanly, I had to grab a hold of his hand and plant it on my lady bumps. For the last few weeks, all my tits got used for was a place to store my cell phone while I was on the elliptical machine. Now, they were getting the kind of man-mauling a set like mine deserve. I still wasn’t sure whether this was going to be the sexiest night of my life or a humiliating prelude to bitter divorce and an extended legal battle over who got to keep the canary. But, there was nothing to really do at this juncture, but soldier on. So I did. Putting my fingers between his legs and giving his narbles a teasing squeeze, I looked up into his semi-shocked eyes and whispered, “I think I’d really like to suck your cock now.”
His eyes were now fully shocked.
“Would you like to get comfortable on the couch or would you prefer to stand right here and watch me get down on my knees in front of you?”
Sam looked over at Donald, not quite knowing what to do.
“It’s your decision buddy,” my helpful hubby informed him. “She’s your woman tonight. Do with her as you wish.”
It didn’t really matter what he wished, because I was already down on the floor and unzipping his jeans. Happy days! All that height of his was not just wasted on the parts of him you could see. It’s really hard to gauge these things but I pretty sure I pulled at least 9 inches of mama joy out of his Fruit of the Looms. This was going to be an interesting evening.
“Look how big Sam is, honey,” I cooed before licking the entire length of his shaft and circling the squirty part with the tip of my tongue. I looked directly into Donald’s eyes as I took as much of our honored guest’s pant-wad into my mouth as would fit. There was a little moan from high above me. I liked that.
It was quite a strange experience sucking on a brand new cock after 25 years of dining on the same tube steak. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like Donald got a blowjob after every meal, but he did all right by me. I have to admit that the novelty of having Sam’s jaw-stretcher pounding the back of my throat did momentarily help me forget how creepy and weird this all was.
As I plied my impeccable oral wares (I used to be a cheerleader), I could sense that his woefully underutilized nut-sack was getting ready to coat my uvula in salty goo. While I was not averse to swallowing a righteous load of Sam’s little swimmers at a future entertainment (if Donald didn’t go demonically apoplectic at some point during the evening’s festivities and smash our skulls in with his one and only bowling trophy), tonight I felt like takin’ that nine inches of his for a joyride ride before I released his troops.
It was definitely time to stop the sword swallowing and get down to the dirty deed. I released his formidable phallus from my masterful maw and lead the partially de-panted lad back to the coitus castle. If choking on his chubby in front of the hubby wasn’t strange enough, taking off my clothes as a prelude to having a guy bust a nut inside me on our marital bed was positively surreal. I actually felt quite shy as I undid my dress and let it drop to the floor. Sam’s eyes dined on a generous helping of my goodies. Again, I liked the sensation. It had been awhile since Dynamo Don had figuratively howled at my moon. Now fully naked, I gave Sam another scandalously improper kiss, while tickling his balls, and lay down on the mattress to receive his concupiscent offering. He unbuttoned his shirt as I spread my legs to give him full access to my shaved and shimmering yummy. Thanks goodness he chose to drop his face down onto my munchable mound because, even as wet as I was, it was still going to take some considerable slog to get his Mr. Naughty Nobby into my “room without a view”. As he slid his tongue up and down my lady-lips, I began to wonder what the fuck his wife was thinking. This guy had the tongue of a artist. It was shear sensual heaven the way he swirled it in and out of my nether nooks and crannies. I let out a little moan and then looked over at my husband who was standing beside the bed, staring without blinking. God, this was strange. It was like I was starring in a porno version of the Twilight zone! Time to start really enjoying myself before Rod Serling walked into the room and started unzipping his fly. I began to play with Sam’s hair as he burrowed into my glistening gulch. And oh, the pleasures that did burst forth from my very happy lappy. I started to lose a little control. My hips were now moving to his every lingual command. Sighs and oh-so-lady-like grunts drifted out of me without my consent. I felt an overwhelming urge to grab hold of his entire head and yank it up into my uterus. A few pre-cum mini-spasms forced an indelicate vulgarism from my lips. Things were getting more and more serious with every lovely lick.
I think Sam was also sensing my impending satyric seizures because he rose up from my delectable depths and prepared to mount his writhing ram-queen. As he gently lowered himself on top of me, my whole body turned into one giant tingle. I lifted up and tasted myself upon his lips as he pushed his pant troll against the gates of Rivendell.
As my girlie jewelry box finally began to open and Sam’s tangerine-sized head attained ingress, I stared deep into my husband’s eyes. From that moment on, there was pretty well only one man in the room and he was about to get my complete and undivided attention. Insertion was a long and delicate process but soooo worth the trouble taken. 4 inches. 5 inches. That was pretty well all my husband could manage on a night without alcohol. 6 inches. 7! 8 inches! Holy mother of God, it was breathtaking. 9! I now had all nine inches of that big, fat, fabulous fuck-wad in there and it was practically splitting me in two. In and out. In and out it went. Yowsa! I grabbed a hold of that pistoning ass like his cheeks were made out of chocolate croissants. Was his wife fucking out of her mind!? This wasn’t ordinary wham-bam sex. It was like I was being invaded. I was bucking and thrashing about like someone had attached my clit to an electric train transformer and turned it up to eleven. I think I may have also started to froth at the mouth. Jesus Murphy, somebody call me a priest! It was like I had a jackhammer stuffed between my legs. I wanted it to last forever but I just couldn’t hold it back. I could feel an orgasmic hurricane rising up from my thoroughly breached and battered cunt, raging through my solar plexus and practically blowing the eyeballs right out of my head. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t breathe. All I could manage to do was make these loud inarticulate yelps like a shot seal. My legs were wrapped so tightly around Sam, I’m surprised I didn’t snap his thigh bones in two as I spasmed and convulsed in unholy erogenic rapture. Slap-dab in the midst of my apocalyptic vaginal throbbing and garbled screams, I received a huge pelvic jolt that banged my head into the bedroom wall. Several others followed as Sam came like a drunken sailor. Wow! I could feel the gallons of penis putty splorting out of his industrial-sized calking gun and caking my insides. Yikes! I was supposed to ask him to put on a condom. Oh well.
Just as my head was beginning to clear and I began to wonder how all of this was being received by my husband, great big gobs of spunk hit the side of my cheek and nose. Even Sam’s dick wasn’t long enough to do that. I turned to see Donald, with his pants down around his ankles, draining the last few drops of jolly juice out of his demi-dick. Apparently our prurient performance had met with his approval.
With the festivities in abeyance, I sent my husband off to get us a couple of cold beers and spent the next few minutes necking with Sam and fondling his spent privates. Luckily, basketball games are over two hours long, so I was able to get another boning out of him before he toddled off home to the missus.
B-Ball has definitely become my favorite sport. Football is only once a week! My Sam is the perfect man. He comes over and gives mama what she wants and then fucks-off home. And hubby serves us drinks and snacks, once he’s finished emptying his own load all over my face and the bed linen.
The only downside is I now have to find a gal for us to share. Especially since I’ve secretly started blowing a few of Donny’s other friends (Though Sam is the only one I allow into the squirt cave.).
Come to think of it, Doris would be a good candidate. Perhaps I’ll let myself kiss her and let my hands roam freely over that god-given stack the next time we have a couple of post-shopping drinks.
“It already has a little something, I replied. Your penis.” I’d already had a couple of wine spritzers.
“I don’t believe that my size, or lack thereof, has any bearing upon my present supposition.”
“Well, if it isn’t your quantity, are you saying it’s our quality?
“Perhaps, in a roundabout way, I am. I mean, let’s face the fornicatory facts. Even when we do partake in acts barely sanctioned by the church and its elders…the end result generally falls far short of our carnal desires.”
I polished off my Salisbury steak and moved on to the complimentary vanilla pudding dessert. I believe Donald scored a rather lack luster mixed-fruit compote. “We’ve been married for 25 years,” I pointed out. “Short of strapping on rubber penguin suits, I don’t see us setting-off neighborhood car alarms with our vociferous screams of orgasmic ecstasy.”
I had fallen into his cunning trap. “That’s because it’s just the two of us. Perhaps if we were to open up our boudoir guest list a little, we could revive a good portion of our moribund bestial ardor.”
The remainder of my pudding could wait. It sounded to me like he’d been reading short porn fiction on the Internet again. “Just what are you trying to say?”
“Do you ever find yourself thinking about other women?”
Now, I have to admit that I have this one friend, Doris? Occasionally, after a couple of post-shopping drinks, I’ve found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss her and let my hands roam freely over that god-given stack, but I wasn’t going to tell Donald that. “No I haven’t, you perverted pig! You want to fuck other women, is that what this is all about?”
“No! No! That’s not ‘it’ in the slightest. I want us to fuck other women…together…as a couple.”
“Well, how about we fuck other guys together? How about that? Feel like taking a big fat one up your truffle cupboard to make us a more loving union?”
“Although I would not wish to personally pleasure or be pleasured by another gentleman, if you should on occasion desire additional male company, then that would only be fair.”
Donald doesn’t usually talk like Perry Mason, so this speech of his had obviously been well rehearsed. I gave it some thought over my last two spoonfuls of pudding and decided to call his bluff. “Okay Mr. Swinger, if you’re serious about this, we’ll start by finding a stud for me and then we’ll hunt around for some desperately lonely woman for you.
To my surprise, he agreed.
So, our salacious search began. I didn’t want it to be some weirdo off the Internet (God knows what icky germs and undesirable personality traits you’re going to run into with the mutants you find on those unsavory “NSA dating sites.”) Neither of us wanted it to be someone we had to work with. I know there’s a whole herd of women out there who pound their puddle all day, fantasying about having their boss drain a gusher into them but that just wasn’t my thing. Now, if I had a better looking boss…
In the end, I really wanted this erotic escapade of his to sting as much as possible, so I said I’d only spread ‘em for one of his friends. I gave Donald the responsibility of picking the guy. Sort of like making a c***d pick the switch you’re going to whip his ass with. My plan was to go absolutely apeshit with lust while this “buddy” went to town inside my horny hotel. Donald would be so traumatized by the sight of all the bucking, fucking and sucking that he’d shut the fuck up about this kind of silly threesome shit for the rest of our marriage and go back to complaining about how I defrost his dinner.
I have to give him credit; Donald took his loony assignment very seriously. He made detailed lists of the positives and negatives, physical attributes and individual hygiene eccentricities of his closest pals. After weeks of madly scribbling notes on pieces of paper and intense chin scratching, a singular name floated to the top of the masculine morass. Sam. I actually quite liked Sam. He was smart and tall and kept himself in pretty good shape. Did I mention how tall he was? Donald had an reasonably adequate hump hammer but when a man is 6 foot 5?….well, it gets a girl to thinking.
Sam was married to a pretty good looking woman but, according to hubby, things were not all donuts and marmalade in the squelchiest room in the house. Apparently, there was a considerable disparity between the two love birds when it came to the amount of “horizontal time” it took to satisfy them. Over many a beer during their endless televisual sporting events, Sam had lamented his paucity of pussy. That’s where my pussy came in…so to speak. Donald was going to wait for an appropriate beer-soaked moment and offer up my services “don la chambre” to make up for this perplexing shortfall at home.
While Donald was putting the finishing touches on his “Wife Giveaway” scheme, I went on a diet and started working out five times a week. If I was going to have to take my clothes off in front of strange men…goddamn it, I was going to give them something worth looking at.
One Tuesday evening, Duplicitous Donny came home chortling and informed me that the offer had been made and accepted over Buffalo wings and Heinekens. Sam would be visiting us that Friday to not watch the basketball game.
Time to ratchet up the partner pain.
For the rest of the week I wouldn’t let Donald near me. I was “saving it” for our guest. The day of, I made a big show of getting my hair done and having a Brazilian. Shit those things hurt! But, this was a hot date and I was going set that fucking bed on fire.
As the hours ticked down to “game time,” Donny seemed to be twice as nervous as I was. About an hour before the reservoir-tip-off, I trotted upstairs with a glass of wine for my last minute girly preparations. By the time I was finished (the preparations and the wine), I heard the doorbell ring. Damn, I should have brought the bottle! I lifted my skirt, tapped my bald bounce-house for luck and head off to meet my meat. As I descended the stairs, Sam was staring up at me with a restrained but decidedly carnivorous look in his eye. It felt really good to have a man drool over me like that again – and for me to be able to reward that man for drooling.
“Hey Sam,” I smiled.
“Hey there Brenda,” he nervously replied. I brushed his cheek with my hand and kissed him sexily on the mouth. Then, I pulled back to see if my husband was going to slug him. I think Sam was waiting to find out the very same thing. Luckily, no noses were biffed out of joint and the evening’s bacchanal could now proceed apace.
“I brought you some flowers.”
“Thank God you didn’t buy me any chocolates,” I joked. “I’ve just lost 10 pounds, so I wouldn’t horrify you when I took my clothes off.”
Gigantic blush! “Oh you wouldn’t horrify me. I mean, I’d love to…that is.”
Sam’s brain was absolutely flailing so I stuck my tongue into his mouth to put him out of his misery. This was starting to be fun. He was so gentlemanly, I had to grab a hold of his hand and plant it on my lady bumps. For the last few weeks, all my tits got used for was a place to store my cell phone while I was on the elliptical machine. Now, they were getting the kind of man-mauling a set like mine deserve. I still wasn’t sure whether this was going to be the sexiest night of my life or a humiliating prelude to bitter divorce and an extended legal battle over who got to keep the canary. But, there was nothing to really do at this juncture, but soldier on. So I did. Putting my fingers between his legs and giving his narbles a teasing squeeze, I looked up into his semi-shocked eyes and whispered, “I think I’d really like to suck your cock now.”
His eyes were now fully shocked.
“Would you like to get comfortable on the couch or would you prefer to stand right here and watch me get down on my knees in front of you?”
Sam looked over at Donald, not quite knowing what to do.
“It’s your decision buddy,” my helpful hubby informed him. “She’s your woman tonight. Do with her as you wish.”
It didn’t really matter what he wished, because I was already down on the floor and unzipping his jeans. Happy days! All that height of his was not just wasted on the parts of him you could see. It’s really hard to gauge these things but I pretty sure I pulled at least 9 inches of mama joy out of his Fruit of the Looms. This was going to be an interesting evening.
“Look how big Sam is, honey,” I cooed before licking the entire length of his shaft and circling the squirty part with the tip of my tongue. I looked directly into Donald’s eyes as I took as much of our honored guest’s pant-wad into my mouth as would fit. There was a little moan from high above me. I liked that.
It was quite a strange experience sucking on a brand new cock after 25 years of dining on the same tube steak. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like Donald got a blowjob after every meal, but he did all right by me. I have to admit that the novelty of having Sam’s jaw-stretcher pounding the back of my throat did momentarily help me forget how creepy and weird this all was.
As I plied my impeccable oral wares (I used to be a cheerleader), I could sense that his woefully underutilized nut-sack was getting ready to coat my uvula in salty goo. While I was not averse to swallowing a righteous load of Sam’s little swimmers at a future entertainment (if Donald didn’t go demonically apoplectic at some point during the evening’s festivities and smash our skulls in with his one and only bowling trophy), tonight I felt like takin’ that nine inches of his for a joyride ride before I released his troops.
It was definitely time to stop the sword swallowing and get down to the dirty deed. I released his formidable phallus from my masterful maw and lead the partially de-panted lad back to the coitus castle. If choking on his chubby in front of the hubby wasn’t strange enough, taking off my clothes as a prelude to having a guy bust a nut inside me on our marital bed was positively surreal. I actually felt quite shy as I undid my dress and let it drop to the floor. Sam’s eyes dined on a generous helping of my goodies. Again, I liked the sensation. It had been awhile since Dynamo Don had figuratively howled at my moon. Now fully naked, I gave Sam another scandalously improper kiss, while tickling his balls, and lay down on the mattress to receive his concupiscent offering. He unbuttoned his shirt as I spread my legs to give him full access to my shaved and shimmering yummy. Thanks goodness he chose to drop his face down onto my munchable mound because, even as wet as I was, it was still going to take some considerable slog to get his Mr. Naughty Nobby into my “room without a view”. As he slid his tongue up and down my lady-lips, I began to wonder what the fuck his wife was thinking. This guy had the tongue of a artist. It was shear sensual heaven the way he swirled it in and out of my nether nooks and crannies. I let out a little moan and then looked over at my husband who was standing beside the bed, staring without blinking. God, this was strange. It was like I was starring in a porno version of the Twilight zone! Time to start really enjoying myself before Rod Serling walked into the room and started unzipping his fly. I began to play with Sam’s hair as he burrowed into my glistening gulch. And oh, the pleasures that did burst forth from my very happy lappy. I started to lose a little control. My hips were now moving to his every lingual command. Sighs and oh-so-lady-like grunts drifted out of me without my consent. I felt an overwhelming urge to grab hold of his entire head and yank it up into my uterus. A few pre-cum mini-spasms forced an indelicate vulgarism from my lips. Things were getting more and more serious with every lovely lick.
I think Sam was also sensing my impending satyric seizures because he rose up from my delectable depths and prepared to mount his writhing ram-queen. As he gently lowered himself on top of me, my whole body turned into one giant tingle. I lifted up and tasted myself upon his lips as he pushed his pant troll against the gates of Rivendell.
As my girlie jewelry box finally began to open and Sam’s tangerine-sized head attained ingress, I stared deep into my husband’s eyes. From that moment on, there was pretty well only one man in the room and he was about to get my complete and undivided attention. Insertion was a long and delicate process but soooo worth the trouble taken. 4 inches. 5 inches. That was pretty well all my husband could manage on a night without alcohol. 6 inches. 7! 8 inches! Holy mother of God, it was breathtaking. 9! I now had all nine inches of that big, fat, fabulous fuck-wad in there and it was practically splitting me in two. In and out. In and out it went. Yowsa! I grabbed a hold of that pistoning ass like his cheeks were made out of chocolate croissants. Was his wife fucking out of her mind!? This wasn’t ordinary wham-bam sex. It was like I was being invaded. I was bucking and thrashing about like someone had attached my clit to an electric train transformer and turned it up to eleven. I think I may have also started to froth at the mouth. Jesus Murphy, somebody call me a priest! It was like I had a jackhammer stuffed between my legs. I wanted it to last forever but I just couldn’t hold it back. I could feel an orgasmic hurricane rising up from my thoroughly breached and battered cunt, raging through my solar plexus and practically blowing the eyeballs right out of my head. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t breathe. All I could manage to do was make these loud inarticulate yelps like a shot seal. My legs were wrapped so tightly around Sam, I’m surprised I didn’t snap his thigh bones in two as I spasmed and convulsed in unholy erogenic rapture. Slap-dab in the midst of my apocalyptic vaginal throbbing and garbled screams, I received a huge pelvic jolt that banged my head into the bedroom wall. Several others followed as Sam came like a drunken sailor. Wow! I could feel the gallons of penis putty splorting out of his industrial-sized calking gun and caking my insides. Yikes! I was supposed to ask him to put on a condom. Oh well.
Just as my head was beginning to clear and I began to wonder how all of this was being received by my husband, great big gobs of spunk hit the side of my cheek and nose. Even Sam’s dick wasn’t long enough to do that. I turned to see Donald, with his pants down around his ankles, draining the last few drops of jolly juice out of his demi-dick. Apparently our prurient performance had met with his approval.
With the festivities in abeyance, I sent my husband off to get us a couple of cold beers and spent the next few minutes necking with Sam and fondling his spent privates. Luckily, basketball games are over two hours long, so I was able to get another boning out of him before he toddled off home to the missus.
B-Ball has definitely become my favorite sport. Football is only once a week! My Sam is the perfect man. He comes over and gives mama what she wants and then fucks-off home. And hubby serves us drinks and snacks, once he’s finished emptying his own load all over my face and the bed linen.
The only downside is I now have to find a gal for us to share. Especially since I’ve secretly started blowing a few of Donny’s other friends (Though Sam is the only one I allow into the squirt cave.).
Come to think of it, Doris would be a good candidate. Perhaps I’ll let myself kiss her and let my hands roam freely over that god-given stack the next time we have a couple of post-shopping drinks.
Lesley
- 24.11.2020
- 11
- 0
