He was not Cheyenne: light brown hair cut neat and short, a goatee, and taller than his wife. He wore used, faded jeans, a checked shirt, and stood wi...h a familiar stance, languid and at ease, loose-limbed; the same stance Hunter had.She studied other photos: Hunter as an eleven-year-old with two younger brothers. In it, she saw Hunter had inherited his mother’s features, both brothers taking after his father.In a progression of photos she saw the three of them growing up, his father aging,. I stood up off the floor and placed my lingerie clad body on his lap and kissed him softly. His tongue ran along the shape of my lips as he enjoyed the taste of his orgasm on my embryonic flesh. I was squirming deliberately on his lap, well aware that we would not fuck anymore this evening, but that I would savour the memory and give my husband the fuck of his life.Not a trace of guilt was in my psyche as I kissed my boss sexily. His hands began to play with my sexually aching breasts, teasing. More

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