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Jack was on his knees at our bedside, his face now barely a foot from mine.“Grierson!” I whispered. “Wie zum Teufel bist du hier reingekommen?” (How the hell did you get in here?)“A loose slat in one of your lower level windows,” he whispered back. “I need to kiss you.”I had wanted him to ignore my rebuffs, to seek me, to chase me. But in my marital bedroom, lying beside my husband! This was too much!“Go away, Grierson,” I hissed. “Richard is right here. And he’s not drunk.”“Just a kiss, Gretchen,” he whispered. “In your guestroom, it’s at the other end of the corridor.”“No!” I said, trying to force anger into my voice, while keeping it to whisper.“You want me, Gretchen,” he murmured.My skirt was still rucked up around my waist from sex with Richard, and Jack’s hand found my sensitive vulva. His fingers grazed my pubic fur, tracing my fat vaginal lips. He buried his face in my tight cleavage, between my bra cups.“Gretchen?” Richard’s sleepy voice drifted over to me. I froze, and Jack. Her hand snuck into the fly of his ‘y’ fronts, eager to touch him, feel the magic wand his sister said he had, it was just as she had described, 6 or even 7inches of chair leg width stiffness. His mother trembled, as she felt his fingers undo the bra clasp, cool hands slipping the straps down her arms, his breath on her nipples, unsure which to suckle his cool hands caressing the weighty softness of the exposed flesh. She became aware of his eyes deep pools that beseeched her to let him up and to remove this last barrier… They stood once more his eyes as he slid off his underpants on her swinging tits, free and unfettered as he had never seen them before, she whispered, “can I keep my stockings on, or do you want it all gone?” his answer was an emphatic “on” and his own hands peeling the tiny lacy knickers down her legs. no thin models legs these, good substantial housewife legs, like the rest of her body a pound or two overweight perhaps but cuddly and reliably solid. He sat on the.
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