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She watched as he played with his cock inside his slacks. She spread her thighs to show him her wet cunt."Did anybody see us?" she asked."Only a couple of ten-year-old girls and a courting couple" laughed Harry. "Are you going to show me a cream pie?" Oh, I could, couldn't I? OK then, wait a second 'til I get organised." Kate opened her thighs wider. Her naked snatch began to throb as she moved her cunt musclesJosie lifted her head from her cleaning job to see her lovers sperm begin to ooze out of Kate's vagina. Before it had time to drip to the floor of the punt she had dipped her head again."That's mah Martins spunk," she mumbled as her mouth filled and Kate put her hand firmly on top of her head. Her sucking was loud but soon she was sitting again, licking her lips. "Vereee tasty, mah Martin's spunk," she said, now smacking her lips.Harry looked up and down the river. There was now no river traffic in sight so he invited Martin to have a go at steering. He sat and enjoyed the view. Her moans were becoming more vocal and I could tell she was beginning to wake up. I hoped that she would not freak out and that last night wasn’t a one time thing. I was really scared; this was a huge risk I was taking. I watched her face as I licked and sucked at her pussy. I could tell she was awake now. She had her eyes closed tightly, her chest was heaving and her pussy was contracting and pulsing against my tongue. I knew she was about to cum, and I wanted to take her over the top. I wanted to please her and make her want more. I continued to lick at her clit as I sucked it between my lips. I knew that gentle pressure and a slow but steady rhythm with my tongue would drive her insane. I moved my tongue slowly all around her clit, feeling it swell and throb as she drew closer to her orgasm. Her juices started flowing from her pussy like a fountain and then I felt the first muscle spasm shoot through her. Her labia lips were quivering and her pussy pulsed around my tongue. Her.
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If he had calculated right, he should begin to feel something at forty-five seconds. A quick glance at the counter confirmed it. Forty seconds on the dot, and he already had a growing headache. With nitrogen racing to the engines, the machine was forced to a breakneck pace in seconds, turning faster and faster, humming deafeningly as it spun. The g-forces increased with each revolution, as did the pain in his head. Richard had constructed his seat on a series of bearings that allowed it to move proportionately to the machine. Acting as a sort of free-moving gear ratio, it compensated for the Dream Cleaner’s fantastic spin, keeping him in one piece. Without it, he would have been torn to shreds in seconds. He only hoped now that his handiwork held. Grasping the throw handles on the dash in both hands, he watched the counter. Sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six–timing was critical, it meant the difference between freedom and death. At seventy-one seconds exactly, he jerked the handles.

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