My hands fell to her full, shuddering breasts, and I held on for dear life as I fucked her—harder and harder—no longer in control of my own actions, desperate to come. My lover moaned in ecstasy. “Mmm! Say my name!” she cried again. “Say it!” The name rose in my throat, crackling like pop-rocks when it hit my tongue. Heart pounding, I grabbed hold of her hips, forcefully buried my cock to the hilt, and screamed out: “Tracy!” “Oh, yes!” I shouted her name again and again, with every thrust of my hips. “Tracy! Tracy! Tracy!” Of course, it wasn’t actually Tracy I was fucking. It was my beautiful and exotic wife, Ria. But after finally fooling around with our two best friends on the night before our wedding, Ria and I couldn’t stop fantasizing about them. After years of secret, unfulfilled fantasies, we’d had a taste of what we’d been missing—and now it was all either of us could think about. Our honeymoon was nearly over, and we’d spent at least half of it role-playing that I was Connor. ”She shivered a little when I said that, and hesitantly moved her hand off mine. It was sort of sad, the way Anglo Victorian women were kept so sexually repressed. But hey, it was great for me, in that I had the pleasure of introducing some of them to sloppy, hot weasel sex.Molly kept her eyes tightly closed, her face and chest red with embarrassment as I rapturously gazed down on her small form. Her breasts were the size of small oranges, but stood proudly on her chest. Her nipples were puffy pink pebbles, protruding proudly from her alabaster cones. The dusting of freckles sprinkled across her chest, combined with her sparse and wispy, coppery colored pubic hair, made her look as if she were a teenage girl.Her response was anything but juvenile, though, when I slurped one of her puffy little nipples into my mouth. The hand that Molly had been holding tightly clenched to her side, shot up and tangled into my hair, as she smashed my face against her little breast. She wasn’t rough.
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