Dee Williams: Our Little Secret

Dee Williams should be riding her new husband’s cock tonight. Instead she’s in the spare room with you. The old man tapped out hours ago, snoring down the hall like he earned the right to skip his own wedding night. She hates that quiet, hates being left wanting. So she turns her attention to the only person still awake—his son. She lets the white dress fall. Two huge, fake tits catch the lamplight, hard nipples already tight. She cups them, squeezes until the silicone bulges between her fingers, then peels everything else away. Completely bare, she sits on the edge of the bed, legs wide, shaved cunt glistening. “You can’t touch,” she warns, voice low and rough. Her own fingers do the work. One hand rubs tight circles over her swollen clit, the other sneaks lower, teasing her asshole until a fingertip disappears inside. She groans, adds another, opens herself. When she’s slick and ready she grabs the thick dildo, presses the head against her ass and sinks down in one slow push. Her back arches. She fucks herself with steady strokes while her free hand finds the heavy vibrator. She plants the buzzing head right on her clit, grinding into both toys until her thighs shake and her mouth drops open on a silent scream. The orgasm hits hard—she clamps around the dildo, juices drip down her crack, and she keeps the vibrator pinned until her whole body jerks and goes slack. She’s still breathing hard when she looks at you, lips curved in a filthy little smirk. “Our little secret.”