Sometimes I dumped all I had into my aunt’s body, cum bathing her insides as I grunted at the sweet release and she sobbed at me to give her my everything. She would press her rump up against me, even grinding her backside over my seemingly permanent erection. The slightest sound – a groan, the creak of bedsprings, anything – could mean we’d be caught. Guided by her tempo, I went up onto straight arms and listened to her sighing and moaning, taking my cue from the way she moved beneath me and the noises she made. Have you seen Michael?”
“Not for a while,” Janet called back. Then we were working at it together and our bodies slap-slap-slapped together in a robust thwacking of flesh upon flesh. “I haven’t seen him,” Aunt Janet lied, as smooth as a politician on polling day.
