"How 'bout this?" he asked."I'm getting hotter," she said. Letting her hand work down his chest and stomach which was above her, "and you're getting harder."Michael scooted her up onto the bed a little and brought his face down into her muff. He let his nose gently brush against her sweet spot as he buried his face between her lips and began giving her head.Soon after, she let out an immense, pleasurable, scream as she climaxed at his face.Not finished with her yet, Michael gently pushed her legs up, spreading her wide open, as he inserted his roboshaft deep within her. Thrust after thrust brought her again to orgasm. She wrapped her legs around him and in unison, brought herself even closer to him, forcing him deeper inside.Michael long gave up on ejaculating inside her when they were fucking. He didn't need to come, to feel the pleasure; and since he only had a limited supply of semen before he needed to replenish, he didn't see the need in wasting it. His goal, after all, was to. After a lot of ego boosting spirits, together they staggered to the station, each buying a big bunch of flowers from a stall in the station, (the railway equivalent of ‘petrol station after-thought flowers’,) both thinking it, an ice breaker, a diplomatic start of their week of hopeful lust. Taking their places in the train and sharing a last nip from their hip flask`s, they exchanged wives names, house keys and oh the house addresses, just in case, each saying that the wives should be meeting the trains at their normal respective stations. Eventually they arrived at Ashford, where Gerald ‘joined’ (to you and I that is staggered over the footbridge to) the branch train to Hastings (known locally as the Marsh maggot!) Ernest however was soon on his way across the other face of the platform, to a Canterbury bound train, soon to leave, both men eagerly wondering what they had let themselves in for! The porter bawling the familiar humorous cry of “why kill em and cart em to Canterbury”.
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