I could feel my pussy soaking my panties. It was the hottest thing I had ever seen. My husband was on his knees, wearing a hot pink thong, sucking ano...her man’s cock. I knew I couldn’t take much more just watching, but I was too enamored to move. I stood there in pure ecstasy, mouth open, as I watched him work this cock like he had done it a million times. I could hear Dustin humming and moaning as the guy put his hand on the back of Dustin’s head and began to push it down onto his huge dick.. There was something else, though, besides her being younger than I remembered last. I didn’t remember her ever wearing her hair curled up like a French poodle on top of her head. And she was wearing makeup. Back in 1952, as I remembered it ... well, Mom was no June Cleaver. She dressed nicely enough for housework and got dressed up for church on Sunday. But makeup? What the fuck?What she was saying didn’t really make a difference since I couldn’t respond. Considering my first thoughts, it was. More

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