Ashley saw the number eighteen and thought that would be easy. That was Peyton Manning's number. Her favorite football player. She was glad it was not...number twelve, as did not like the player who wore that number. Even that dreamy Tom Brady.The next Saturday morning came, and it was the same story, all alone because her boyfriend had to work. Ashley wiped the sleep from her eyes as she awoke. She jumped out of bed and thought this is Saturday I need to huddle with good ole number eighteen at. I moan load, as do you. Your eyes are closed again and as I look up our spectator has moved closer. He leans in over your ass while rubbing his cock. I lift your head up and turn it so that you can see, just as he shoots long streams of cum over your back and all over your ass. You look back at me and kiss me deeply. As you break our embrace, you slowly turn around and let your body slowly fall forward until you are on your fours, arching your back down, pouting your ass towards my erection. I. More

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