What Dad Doesn't Know

India and Derrick stumble in from dinner, riding high that the kid finally warmed up. Derrick says hey, why doesn't she take some one-on-one time with Jessy, teach him she's not the enemy. She shoots her husband a wink, says she'll win the boy over, one way or another. Soon as Derrick hits the shower, she fires Jessy a text: Get upstairs. Now. She peels off the fancy dinner clothes, sprawls naked across the sheets just in time for him to walk in. She lays it out fast, moves her hips at him and tells him if they’re gonna share this house they’re gonna have to get it out of their systems and start fucking. One look at his thick hard-on and she knows he’s been dying for it; today she’s giving the green light. Her grip wraps around that heavy cock, gives it a lazy pump. "Nobody finds out, our little secret," she purrs, "but tonight Mommy’s cunt wants every inch you’ve got." Jessy tries to spit out a half-hearted objection, something about his dad, but India already straddles his face, soaking his tongue in one steady grind. She tastes like she’s been wet for hours. She spins around, shoves that cock down her throat, nose pressed to his stomach, spit spilling out both corners. He feels the tight squeeze, the wet choke when the head pops past the back, and for one perfect second nothing else exists. Footsteps from the hallway snap them back. Jessy bolts behind the bed just as Derrick cracks the door. India never misses a beat, smiles, hair wild, smooths the sheets and says it was probably just the AC vent rattling again. Derrick shrugs and walks off; India’s panties hit the floor again and she’s on Jessy, slamming herself down until her pussy is leaving streaks of shiny juice all over that fat dick. He bucks up harder, loses it fast. When he cums the load sprays thick, painting her swollen lips and dripping down the length of her slit until they’re both a soaked, panting mess.