Lynn watched as Henry’s eyes caressed her curves. Lynn began to smile. And got an idea. Instead of turning back to the window, she faced Henry and ...ipped her cloth in the bucket. She stayed there, in full frontal view of her husband, and began to wipe again. Her hand went right, her breasts swung left. Back and forth, a counterpoint of mopping movements. Henry sat on his heels, his hands lifeless, his eyes glued to his wife’s chest. Just how long had he held this fantasy? Lynn smirked to. Rarely if ever has she even needed to trim it. It forms a nice V shape above her mound coming to a tuft right at the top of the hood of her clit. Her slit has only a very light s**ttering of hair that fades away as it moves toward the very soft concaved area at the top of each thigh. Those two spots almost demand the presence of a mans cock to caress them. They are perfect in beauty and softness, as if caressing a mouses ear. He lays his tongue flat against her puss and slowly licks upward. More

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