’ He thought, regretting the conservative attitude of his uptight, mass-going Italian wife. “Oh, you’re so hot! You’re such a hot a bitch in h...at Lynda!” he whispered almost out of breath as he rammed his manhood in and out of her pussy faster and harder until the desk was shaking under the impact of his thrusts. “Mmmmm! Make me your bitch Giovanni, tear up my slut cunt…. Yessssssssss.” She whispered between moans and gasps of pleasure. Her words threw fresh fuel in the fire of his. “Because dinner would surely burn,” I defended. She laughed in agreement. But eventually we touched as we worked together, she lightly placing a hand on my forearm when she laughed at something I said, me placing my hand on the small of her back when I passed behind her in the small apartment kitchen. As dinner cooked our passion simmered. Once, I ran a single finger across the back of her butt. A short while later she dragged one lightly up the seam of my jeans along the crack of my ass. We. More

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