... of his dad. His dad was one of the most pathetic examples of an athlete Jimmy had ever met. But when it came to this event, he was a master in his own mind, and, now, Jimmy’s.)
His hands on Mom’s firm, sweat-damp hips, Dad would pull back until his sex was nearly outside of his mother’s enveloping heat, then he would burrow himself back to be within her humid walls.
What resistance there was had been utterly pleasurable. But once Dad had reestablished his measure of his mate’s vagina again, he picked up his speed and force, until he slapped up against Jimmy’s mom’s groin again and again. He penetrated all the way through her cervix, the entrance to the womb.
All the while, Mom’s vaginal muscles fluttered, rolled and gripped at Dad’s penis, while her legs sought to push him back to her velvetiness every time he pulled away, trying to detain him longer within her womanly embrace, trying increase both of their enjoyments along their hot inverse lengths. The syrupy slurry of their fluids eased the friction of their sexes contact while creating momentary seals that added to the resistance to their primal rhythm.
“I’m coming, Sugar Booger!” Dad said, his breath short with raging desire. “I’m holding back...