I had to get as close as I could to this girl. She could have every single in my wallet. Every large bill and credit card, too. Hell, take my truck ba...y, here are the keys... We made eye contact. Her head cocked to one side, like a puppy does when it hears a squeak. She smiled a hauntingly familiar smile. "Katie..." I thought for a second, then common sense took over. No way in hell that was my Katie. No diet regimen, no plastic surgeon could have peeled nearly two decades off my ex-wife. The. As I walked out of the bathroom I heard a slight moan coming from a dooor just down the hall. I creeped up to the slightly open door and peeked in. There was Ms. Clark wearing a baby doll nighty, on her stomach with a pillow under her hips raising her ass up and from my angle I couldnt see what she was doing but it didn't take a Mensa member to figure it out. I was watching from the door and I inched it open more to get a better view. My heart was pounding so hard I swear she should have been. As she had done the night before, she slowly eased my shaft into her hole. Once she was fully penetrated, she leaned forward, placed the palms of her hands on my chest, and rode my cock for a several minutes. Once we were both well lubricated, I rolled Sarah over on her back, bent her legs back and spread them, slid my shaft into her hole and fucked her a little faster. My balls slapped against her ass as my cock slid into her slit. “Does that feel good?” I asked. “Do you like my cock?” Sarah. His eyes were tired and blood shot but shown with compassion and warmth and in an instant, he gently pushed the girl in my direction, muttered some words and hauled the old woman into the depths of darkness and was gone. The little girl and I stood, looking at each other and blinking our eyes. I think I was in shock at what had just taken place. My mind now registering what the old couple was frantically trying to convey to me was rushing in like a freight train. I stepped forward and called.
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He touched himself obscenely, hefting and fondling the swelling in his trousers as idly as a vintner checking the ripeness of his crop. ‘What do you
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