Bridget turned to face him, and saw that Mr. Kennedy had taken off his coaching shirt and was wearing only a wife beater. His chiseled chest muscles s...rained against the thin cotton. She could see his six-pack through the shirt as well. Bridget felt the muscles in her pussy twitch in arousal, she could still feel the remnants of her afternoon escapade dried on her leg and hoped that it wasn’t as noticeable to him as it was to her. “Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” Bridget said, brushing her red hair away. .with my thighs open for you...and lay you down in front of me...and take you into the back of my throat...and when you put your head between my thighs...I’d squeeze down and wouldn’t let you go...until you’d made me cum...as many times as that lucky married woman...and I’d swallow every drop you gave me and ask for more...” She then released my cock and closed her thighs and said, “Now finish your wine,” and grinned at me over her wineglass. After we finished, she frowned as if calculating a. More

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