Fucking The Pool Boy

Aimee’s husband is out here trying to kiss her ass after sticking his dick where it didn’t belong. She’s not giving an inch. They’re in the backyard when she straight-up tells him: she’s fucking Anthony, the pool boy. He’s like hell no, but Aimee doesn’t blink—just lays it out like an invoice due. Fair’s fair. He cracks, so she grabs Anthony by the hand and pulls him over to the picnic table like lunch is served. She makes her husband pull out his phone and starts directing: film the kid sucking on her fat tits. Anthony’s mouth is all over her, tongue flicking each nipple, and she’s already shoving him back so she can swallow his cock. She goes slow at first, gets it nice and sloppy, then takes him down until her eyes water. Hubby’s still holding the camera. Anthony spins her, bends her over the bench, and drives it in from behind. She moans loud enough for the neighbors to hear, tells her husband what a loser he is while the kid pounds her pussy raw. She creams on him once, twice, shaking like she can’t decide whether to tap out or beg for more. That thick cock’s stretching her so wide she’s cursing with every thrust. Finally Anthony grunts, pulls out, and paints her tongue and lips with a heavy load. She looks straight into her husband’s lens, cum dripping off her chin, and smiles.