Not a trace of make-up. Not that it bothered me, I hate it when I get makeup on my shirts. Or my face. Or my hands. Anyway. She invited me into the li...ing-room, sat me down and offered me a drink.“Thanks! Could I have some of your Bushmills, please – just a little water?”When she came back, some time later, with my drink, she was carrying a mug of cocoa. I don’t know about you, but I associate cocoa with boats; in fact, it’s about the only time I drink the stuff, when I’m sailing. Tired out. There were several heavy creases on the back of it, and in the clothes hamper I found her discarded red lace panties. The crotch was slippery with a heavy coating of semen. Vicious, huge threads of some guy's come had formed and began to drip when I held them up. I returned them to the hamper. Sharon had been thoroughly fucked. Instead of being angry, however, I found myself with a huge hard-on.I could just imagine what it looked like with some guy plowing my wife, her maoning and thrashing. More

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