#418441 - She re-emerged obsolete-chic, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck sweater, a short plaid skirt, and knee-high boots; George was dressed to not kill, conservative-blah this side of invisible. From his hold of her pelvis, he could observe, relish, his penetrations of her – her venerably heart-shaped tush – and between her buns feel the more muscular, strangling slick-friction of her wrap of him within as he stirred and churned his semen inside her, her depths soupy, sloppy with sperm and lubricant; his thrusts compounded would amount to a short ton of his meat packed up her ass before they were through, he imagined, ponderously piling his bulk into her pound after pound, one brick at a time: building on their blasphemy, erecting their sacrilege – this deliciously unlovely buggery of his sister’s delightful fanny. The toy rattled loud, louder, even snuffled up Maggie’s ass, than either of them thought discreet, and they both startled, laughing at the racket.
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