Dee Williams Is A Lonely Wife

Dee and her man are absolute perverts in the best way. Glory holes, swinger parties, dungeon nights—the whole menu. Most times they roll in together, but today she's solo with hubby out of town. Doesn't mean her pussy switched off. She pulls up to the same filthy booth they used last weekend, hits his number, and keeps the line live so he can ride every second with her through the phone. First cock slides through. She kills the call, drops straight to her knees, and swallows like she gets paid for it. Spit runs down her chin, drips onto her tits. Slick and greedy, she spins, lines that dripping hole up with the shaft, and shoves back until her cheeks slap the wall. Hard. Fast. Filthy. The guy grunts—his tell. She yanks off, sinks to her knees again, and takes the load across her tongue, eyes locked on that twitching hole like she's daring him to go soft. He doesn't. Still throbbing. She grins, slurps him back in, works tongue and throat until she's sure he's aching. Then she turns, backs up, and fucks a second, thicker load out of him, moaning as it pumps inside her. She straightens, pulls her phone, snaps a couple messy pics—cum shining on her lips, on her ass, down her thigh—and shoots them off with a short text: "Wish you were here to taste it too." Sharing really is caring.