Then I looked at him. “Bull SHIT!” I spat, throwing the French bread into my grocery cart. “I'm not lying.” He said with a calm shrug. “I'll...make you a bet,” I said, “Come back to my place. If you're anywhere NEAR the size of a baguette, I'll let you get to know my tits up close. Of course when you flop out whatever you're ACTUALLY stuffing in there, you have to cover the cost of my grocery bill. “You're on.” He said. “I'll see you out front. Oh, and my name is Paul.” “Holli.” I said. While he. The thought turned me on nearly as much as fucking him in the first place. I snuggled right up to Hubby and caressed him with my left hand, as was my usual practice. Also as usual, my right hand went right between my thighs, immediately feeling my son's wet, sticky (and wonderful) cum. No sooner had I begun to enjoy the feeling of rubbing the leftovers of his ejaculation into my clit, Hubby did something he never does. He woke up. What the hell was he doing? He was going to wake up now? TODAY. More

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