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She acted as if she hadn't had an orgasm in quite awhile... mewing like a kitten as my tongue snaked up between her slit... sucking her like an oyster from the shell... her warm mucous like cream sliding down my throat, happily reminding me of my position... a slut on her knees.She tried to mute the groan when her orgasm exploded... her hips betraying the pleasure I was giving... and before she could put a halt to her unorthodox interview, I brought her to a second orgasm... and a third.Her fingers, snarled in my hair, pushed me away. I sat back on my haunches and quivered thru my own selfish pleasure. She quickly became professional again.She made sure, in no uncertain terms, I understood never to speak of what had taken place. I believed her... believed she was capable of hurting me.True to my word, I gave her the names I knew were involved. Mrs Danner, Mrs Conner, and the Jennifer Aniston look a like. I also told her I was invited to meet one of the young girls the next day, after. They remained in each other's arms, absorbing the post orgasmic bliss that washed over their bodies. Mom's face was glowing as they laid there snuggling while Jeremy nuzzled her long neck. The room was silent now except for their panting. Eventually, his dick grew soft enough that it sluggishly snaked out and landed with a thump on the bed. I gasped as mom's well-fucked pussy was left gaping with Jeremy's snotty-looking cum leaking out."You are one sexy bitch, mom. I can't help but want to fill you with my seed every time I look at you," he confessed passionately."Oh go on," she said with a grin. Slap! He playfully slapped and grabbed her left ass cheek, lifting it for a moment to expose one of the sexiest assholes I've ever seen. Her shit-hole was lined with beautiful pink ridges that were obscenely stretched by his clutching hand. Still in the spoon position they started in, my mother turned her head to kiss Jeremy. When she did, she caught sight of me outside the door. I know she.
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‘See you later,’ I said. ‘Yeah.’ Enough with the ‘Yeah.’ I picked him up at his dorm Saturday evening. God, he looked good. No, he didn’t. He didn’t look bad but, objectively, he wasn’t going to blow anyone away. But he looked good to me, and that was more than enough. Then again, maybe he did look good but suffered by comparison to the museum-quality specimens I had dated before. We had reservations at The Brass Rail. It would have been quite expensive for Jeff. For me, it was cheaper than McDonald’s. ‘Nice place.’ He was looking around as if he was a little surprised that a place like this existed in a college town and a little uncomfortable to be in it. ‘Probably not what I would have picked’ he said in a charming bit of understatement. ‘That’s the advantage of having different backgrounds. We get to share each other’s knowledge and experience.’ A waiter approached. ‘Nice to see you, Miss Fine.’ He put down a small Caesar Salad in front of each of us. ‘Thank you, Arnault.’ He.

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