Up His In-Law's Skirt

Cara Mella practically bounces off the plane into Zack’s arms, grinning like she just won something dirty. The drive home doesn’t stay PG for long. She’s barely buckled in before she tells him he deserves a reward—an “asshole so sweet you’ll wanna keep it.” Zack keeps both hands on the wheel, cool as he can, but his dick’s already testing the zipper. They make it back to the house, front door barely shut, and Cara’s peeling off her panties like they’re on fire. She bends over the kitchen table, cheeks spread, and goes full filthy mouth. “Lube me up, use spit, I don’t care—just get in.” Zack spits on her hole, watches it glisten, lines up and pushes past that tight ring in one slow slide till he’s balls-deep in warm, clenching guts. Cara’s moaning, low and grateful, rocking back to take every inch like she’s been thinking about it since customs. He grips her hips, starts pounding, and the table legs screech against the tile. Every thrust pulls a wet little sound out of her, a mix of filthy squelch and happy whimper. She begs harder, asks him to stretch it wider, to wreck it before the real welcome-home party. Zack obliges—no mercy, just steady rhythm and the occasional smack on her ass. Cara’s hole milks him in greedy pulses; she’s already coming untouched, shaking and drooling on the wood. Only when her knees buckle does he pull out, paint that used pucker white, then smear a thumb through the mess and push it back inside like a souvenir. She straightens up, flushed, laughing, already planning round two in the shower. Sabby’s grin says he’ll happily miss the next flight if it means keeping this sister-in-law happy.