Under The Blanky Hanky Panky - Lucy Lotus & Elias Cash
A Matter Of Principal
A Not So Silent Night
Hubby's Risky Rendezvous
Under The Blanky Hanky Panky - Charles Dera & Chloe Rose
I Sniff Your Panties When You're Gone
The thrill of forbidden fun with the risk of discovery. Sneaky hookups in public places, quiet quickies while others are nearby—it's the adrenaline rush that makes everything hotter. One wrong move and they're busted. Turn up the heat and press play.
Serene, my hot stepmom, shoots me this grin when I gripe about that dumb pyramid-scheme bash we’re supposed to hit. We used to have these dirty little afternoons all to ourselves, and now some MLM-wannabe friend is stealing the time. Screw that. Serene fires off a quick text—both down with some wicked bug, can’t make it—and tosses her phone. Five seconds later she’s got me on the couch, skirt shoved to my waist, tongue working my clit like she’s starving. My fingers knot in her hair, pulling her deeper while I moan her name and she just laughs into my pussy. Then her phone rings and it’s the host checking in. She answers, voice all hoarse and pathetic—“Yeah… heads are pounding, bodies ache…”—even as two of her fingers slide right back inside me, curling and pumping, thumb rubbing my swollen clit. Every filthy stroke makes it harder to keep her straight face. I bite the cushion to stay quiet, but my hips keep rolling against her hand like they own her. She winks, keeps selling the sickness while she fucks me through another soft, shaking orgasm on speaker, then hangs up, licks her fingers clean, and dives right back between my legs for round two.
Serene, my hot stepmom, shoots me this grin when I gripe about that dumb pyramid-scheme bash we’re supposed to hit. We used to have these dirty little afternoons all to ourselves, and now some MLM-wannabe friend is stealing the time. Screw that. Serene fires off a quick text—both down with some wicked bug, can’t make it—and tosses her phone. Five seconds later she’s got me on the couch, skirt shoved to my waist, tongue working my clit like she’s starving. My fingers knot in her hair, pulling her deeper while I moan her name and she just laughs into my pussy. Then her phone rings and it’s the host checking in. She answers, voice all hoarse and pathetic—“Yeah… heads are pounding, bodies ache…”—even as two of her fingers slide right back inside me, curling and pumping, thumb rubbing my swollen clit. Every filthy stroke makes it harder to keep her straight face. I bite the cushion to stay quiet, but my hips keep rolling against her hand like they own her. She winks, keeps selling the sickness while she fucks me through another soft, shaking orgasm on speaker, then hangs up, licks her fingers clean, and dives right back between my legs for round two.
