She would go to the kitchen, from time to time, I caught her guzzling wine, from the bottle, like a fucking homeless loser, I knew she was weak, and ... wasnt. I simply told Donald to go for walk and I would call him when he could return, he was horrified, but as I grabbed his little wee wee, through his jeans, it was hard, and I laughed , he blushed, left. She didnt even ask where her son was, in no time I was sticking my tongue into her large, wet mouth, which seemed to not hinder her. He might be asleep, but Lisbeth suspected he was dreaming of her. How else could she explain the fact that his cock had turned the bed sheet into a tent worthy of Barnum and Bailey? She was tempted to go have a peek, but she knew that, if she did, she wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to touch it, maybe kiss or lick it, perhaps wank it up and down with her fist, or even bounce her cunt on it. If she did that he would surely wake up, and she knew he couldn't get by without his rest. Much. More

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