This was no toy, like that silly, absurdly pink thing Miranda had given her. This was weighty, solid, serious. The blunt torpedo shape was meant for n...thing more, or less, than penetrating her most intimate part.Now that she'd gotten it home, she was oddly hesitant. She stood it on her nightstand and turned on the shower.When she got out, warm and flushed and pink, it was waiting patiently. Sleek. Unyielding. Implacable. There would be no give to it, no warmth other than what traces her own. Her red satin underwear showing a marked contrast to her milky white skin. Kris was giving me a hand job, not too fast or slow just enough to bring me to the boil. Jim asked in his deep voice,“Want me to leave or join in?” My wife had often said her secret yearning was to go with a colored guy, spoke straight away something about him being overdressed first. Kris had me right on the edge of shooting my load as she dropped to her knees taking my cock in her mouth. The benefit of not being too. More

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