You Can't Make Up the Moist
Standing at his kitchen sink this morning , he wraps his arms around me and spins me around, looking into my sleepy green eyes with his content blue ones. And says one phrase. You can't make up the moist; it must mean I'm doing a good job... He pulls me in for a lingering, barely there kiss; his body and mine mesh together for a brief moment before the Tik-Tok You-Tube station begins looping in the background on the big-screen TV that his daughter is currently in charge of. He's right; you can't make up the moist and wet that was there in my pussy, and yes, he did a very good job last night. Our sex was close with dirty whispers of each other's deepest fantasies. My legs wrapped around his hips. Squeezing and pulling his body deeper into mine. His hips pumped. We kissed and pulled each other's hair. The moonlight silhouettes of us on the wall; him grabbing my ass. Me tugging at his balls. Our sounds of sex echoed in his...