Illicit

Emily Pritchard let Karl in, looking up and down the street, always suspicious. Although she was the neighborhood Karen, she was always alert -- one slipup would be a disaster.

She let the older mailman in, and jumped into his arms, mashing her lips against his, feeling his muscles as he held her up. He was sweaty, as usual in the South Carolina heat. But he was more of a man than Ian could ever be, Emily thought.

Part of that was the thick 8.5 inches of cock growing against her pert bottom. Part of it was he was blue-collar, from the streets. Part of it, perhaps a large part, was his ethnicity was different. But the biggest thing, was that it was illicit -- a crime of passion. And for a bored housewife, that is a power intoxicant indeed.