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My tip drank in such sweet delight, the pleasure racing through my body.I swayed, half-supported by the branches binding my wrist together. My knees grew weaker as the pleasure built and built in the depths of my cunt. My eyes rolled back into my head, stars dancing in my eyes.I was so close.But I didn't say it. No, no, I didn't want to spook her.“Such a good cock-sucker,” I whimpered. “Oh, Kimmie, yes.”She sucked harder, pumping her fingers in and out of my pussy. She stirred my cunt to a hot froth. Her left hand grabbed the base of my girl-cock, stroking it. New delight rippled down my shaft and into my pussy. My ovaries boiled.My face tensed as my orgasm swelled. I stared down at her as she looked up. Such hungry eagerness flashed in her eyes. She craved my futa-cum spilling into her mouth. She wanted to please the famous Becca Brittany.“Yes!” I gasped, my ovaries tightening. I trembled, on the verge of my orgasm. I needed only a little more. A few more sucks, a few more pumps of. Her sister would meet us at the airport and we’d give her the heirloom. This would side step putting the treasure in a Fedex box, and provide a safe ‘hand delivery’.This also meant that Barbi literally had to pack while I was driving home. We’d hustle the luggage out the moment I arrived, and then drive directly to the terminal. It meant my personal sexual release was again delayed. Although given my current level of physical exhaustion, perhaps a blessing in disguise.Barbi might have guessed how tired I was, but she put the pedal to the metal for me that night. The crowded airport terminal, sitting a couple hours on the plane. And my wife’s ‘traveling clothes’?Her high heels were of a brown leather color. There was no lift under the toes, but a good four inches in the heel. Her skirt was well up past mid thigh, showcasing legs that would make a traffic cop swallow his whistle. Her blouse was shoulder less, frilly, and bared her fit midsection. The over coat she wore on the drive was.
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