I'm Home, Dear

It was 9 o'clock when Douglas pulled into the driveway. He shut the car door. Twelve hours in the office, three hours commuting, leads to one tired man. He walked to the front door, loosening his tie.

Chelsie had great timing, that was for sure. Whether Douglas arrived at four p.m. or four a.m., there was always a hot meal ready for his arrival. And by hot meal, he meant Chelsie's cream filled pussy.

He peeled off his dress shirt and slacks, falling to his knees and crawling to her as she beckoned him. She parted her thighs, her pussy recently waxed, and he moved his mouth between her legs, attaching his mouth to it and providing a generous suction. His tongue pushed into her, and between his suction and gravity, the mixed juices of Chelsie and G-Dawg drained into his mouth. Douglas reached between his legs, tugging on his small cock, planting soft kisses along her queen of spades tattoo. Chelsie bucked. She liked when he gave in to her belief in Black supremacy and the BNWO. She rested both hands in his balding head, as he coaxed her to orgasm.