Don't Apologize

When Don crashes at their place and spills about his marriage going to shit, Isa plays the caring friend—too caring. Next morning she’s telling her husband, all sweetness, how worried she is. Hubby reads her like a book and calls it: she’s got a crush. That guilty little smile tells him everything. She ducks out to make coffee, cheeks still hot. Don’s already in the kitchen. Says sorry for dumping on her. Isa steps in close, hand on his chest, and before they can talk themselves out of it their mouths crash together. Don jerks back and bolts. Couple hours later he comes creeping into their bedroom to apologize. Her husband shuts him down quick—no need. They’re swingers, and Isa decided Don needs a pick-me-up, the best kind. Don’s eyes go wide, but when Isa pulls him in the doubt melts fast. She drops to her knees, drags that thick black cock free, eyes lighting up like it’s Christmas morning. She stretches her jaws around the head, struggles, slicks it down with spit, and still can barely fit half. Her pussy’s soaked just from tasting him. Hubby’s watching from the chair, hard as stone. Isa bends over the bed, arches her back, and lets Don ease that fat shaft inside her inch by inch. Her tiny hotwife cunt’s stretched tight; you can see it cream up his cock with every thrust. She moans for her husband the whole time—telling him how big Don feels, how deep, how she’s already close. And she is. First orgasm hits her like a truck, legs shaking, pussy squeezing. She spins around, slurps her own cream off that shining dick, then climbs on top, sinks down slow, grinding until Don’s balls-deep again. She cums twice more—loud, messy, shameless—while her husband eggs her on. Finally Don can’t hold it, grabs her hair, paints her tongue white, and she swallows every drop with a wicked grin up at both men.