Iris Receives The Pictures

When Diane's pictures caused Iris's smart phone to chime, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a white pull-over. Her husband was naked and kneeling up beside her, facing away from her. She had reached in between his legs from behind and was tugging away. Bringing him to the final stages of a rather prolonged handjob. Bucking and convulsing, he moaned repeatedly, almost there.

"Oh, look, darling," she told him just as he started ejaculating. "Diane has bought some sort of milking machine for her husband. Would you like one?"

Her words did not register on her husband's lust driven brain. All he could think of was his erupting cock, the sperm shooting out wildly as his wife nonchalantly jerked him off. With grunts and groans he pumped out his load, the white nut-cream soiling their sheets.

"Are you listening to me?" she scolded.

Sheepishly he shook his head. "Sorry, dear, but that handjob . . . It just felt sooo good. I couldn't . . ."

"That's alright, darling," she reassured him, patting his bare backside. "Now clean up this mess while I go start dinner."