Formalities with the Joneses.

You stand up to shake her hand. "Hey Mrs. Jones." Her shirt is draped over her shoulder and her slightly sagging mammaries and smooth stomach are bared. Satisfactorily you drink in the lip-bitingly hot lady's body.

"Well hello there, young man," the pleasant-faced woman welcomes, her hair done in those curls you thought left with the 20th century. Before she continues, you look at her eyes, and she blinks, turning her head from side to side. "Oh my. I'm sorry, but before we go on, I have to ask you an urgent question. Do you think you could have sex with my daughter?" she places both hands on Heather's shoulders.

You shrug. "Sure."

"How about me?" she sidles up in front of you.

"Why not."

She caresses her hips, hands sliding over her belt loops. "Am I a sexy looking middle-aged woman?"

"Yeah."

Subtly she swings her hips left to right. "Do I reside in your perverted fantasies while you jerk off thinking about me?"

"Yes."

"Which is my best feature, my chest or my behind?"

"Chest, probably."

"But surely, you're not disapproving of my firm matron cheeks?"

"No, of course not."

"Oh thank heavens." She slaps said parts with both hands, rubbing them through her pants as she glanced at them over her shoulder.

You point at her tits, which you enlarge a little while also removing any potential for back strain. "You lactate?"

She smiles, and cradles a breast. "Sure do." White dairy oozes out its nipple. "Would you like some?"

With a nod you take her offer and plop her nipple into your mouth, suckling her hefty teet. She rubs the back of your head and lightly tilts her own back.

"Oh, that's nice, dear. Let me feed you."

Meanwhile, Heather drops into a sofa, placing her feet on Cassandra's back. "I'll put something on while you guys are busy with that."

You briefly detach from Mrs. Jones' breast to address her. "Masturbate."

Heather takes the remote she was holding and starts casually rubbing it up and down her pussy lips through her shorts, a patient look on her face as she checks her phone. "Actually yeah, touching myself is way more rad."

Nipple suckling back on schedule, you look up at Mrs. Jones.

Tell me how much you want me.

With closed eyes, the older woman sighs, "Oh John, I could just eat you straight up. Every single part. That is how wonderful you are. So, so wonderful."

Especially my dick.

"...especially that dick of yours rubbing up on me at the moment," she adds mirthfully. You lap up another wallop of cream as you tongue her nipple. She hisses while your eyes linger over her prettily scrunched face.

Admit that you're a whore.

"Heavens," Mrs. Jones relinquishes another sigh, "I am just a dirty, good for nothing whore."

Now orgasm, hard.

Suddenly tensing up, the woman's brow deepens. She squeezes both legs together and gives in to a **** moan as she presses your body against her, almost as if to keep herself from falling. "Ohh....my....GOODNESSuuhghgg!"

You rub her back, removing her nipple from your mouth as the breathless woman is reduced to a smattering of moans and mewls before you.

"Now give me a blowjob, Mrs. Jones." You pause. "Please."