Apart from Vanessa and Rory—her daughter, the tiny chaos gremlin currently using my chest as a pillow—there was one urgent thing I had to finish.
I still had residuals of my sex marathon with two MILFs who'd just shattered for me in the last three hours like fine china dropped from orbit. I gave them what they wanted. But I made damn sure they paid for it—not in some weird, leather-and-safeword way you'd expect from a man with my particular skill set.
No. I just fucked them so thoroughly neither of them would be walking straight for the next few days.
Their legs were currently staging a full-scale rebellion against gravity.
Mission accomplished.
I usually held back with my women. Controlled the output. Managed the intensity like a responsible god who understood that mortal bodies had limits and that "limitless stamina" was more of a suggestion than a warranty.
Not today.
