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They’d been turned away at the door and ended up in the diner down the street, instead. She’d been overdressed, and he’d been mortified, but at least the malts were top notch. John, though, was anything but a quitter-another of his qualities that she appreciated. He’d scoured New York’s thrift stores the next day, assembling his ratty-but-technically-sufficient ensemble. The elbow-patch jacket quickly became his favorite article of clothing-according to her usage data-and he’d worn it on the majority of their dates, since. Dinner, of course, had been excellent, crowned by the particularly fortunate beaujolais nouveau which is, even now, plummeting towards the floor. The conversation had started out light with bad weather and politics. He carefully navigated the fjords of international finance, she struck deep into the heart of his syllabus on Marlowe, and dinner wore on from asparagus soup to skewered lamb, both of them growing ever more nervous by the moment. She had meant to tell. ”Becky moaned about my cock. The humming buzz made my dick throb. My shaft twitched as Sam fisted me. Becky sucked harder, bobbing her head up and down my cock. The pleasure spilled through me.“Yes, yes, get Daddy to cum all over our faces so we can lick each other clean. That’ll make him hard.”“Damn, you are naughty, Sam,” I groaned.She flashed me another grin, stroking my cock faster.Then Becky popped her mouth off and smiled at Sam. “Your turn!”“It’s so good to see you two share,” I groaned as Sam engulfed the tip of my cock. My youngest swallowed my shaft with skill. She sucked with an enthusiasm that made my toes curl.“Why wouldn’t we share, Daddy?” Becky asked. “We both love you.”Those words made my cock throb in her hand. I groaned as Sam took more and more of my cock. My dick brushed the back of her throat. My balls throbbed in Becky’s hand. Sam’s tongue swirled around my cock, teasing me.“Yes, yes, Sam,” Becky said. “We’re going to have cum for breakfast. That’s so.
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