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Carol laughed as her tight pussy squeezed my flaccid cock out on to the kitchen counter. “Why yes, Jim, yes it was good,” she giggled in a mocking voice. “You’re so cute.” She pulled up her legs and put her feet on the counter, leaning back on her elbows. I was hypnotized watching my semen drip out of her fiery red hole. “You came a lot, didn’t you?” She flexed her pussy muscles sending a healthy gush of cum onto the kitchen counter. “Next time I’m going to make you clean me up.” Again with the “next time…” She spun over onto all fours and slid off the island. “But your cum is so yummy I want every drop.” She leaned over and began eagerly lapping up my jizz. I moved closer behind her to watch her bobbing head. I slapped her ass a couple of times with my limp cock. Not missing a beat as she cleaned the island of my cum, Carol reached back with both hands and spread her ass for me. “Put your dick in my crack. I want you hard again. We’re not done yet.”

Despite her protests, she was much more amenable this time. A bit of hesitancy at first, but once she got used to the difference in taste she dove right back in to eating me again. I could have easily just let myself float on the enjoyment of what she was doing to me, but I made a special effort to be vocal for her, to moan and gasp, making sure she knew she was doing a good job. I knew how much Daddy liked that sort of thing when he was fucking me, and I figured it was probably even more important for Mom. I got there quicker this time, I think because it just felt so naughty to be feeding Mommy Brucie's cum instead of Daddy's. I totally rubbed my pussy all over her face when I came, too—not because I was trying to this time, just because it felt so good I couldn't stop myself from bucking my hips! Daddy gave me one last kiss on my lips, then got out of my way so I could slide myself down and lay on top of her.

“All I ever wanted was to change the world, to make it a better place where the weak wouldn’t be stepped on and enslaved, where freedom was a right instead of a privilege. I pushed myself, I struggled, I suffered, all for that goal, and survival is the best I could accomplish? If I have to focus only on survival, to be grateful just for staying alive, then how am I supposed to change anything? How am I any different from those who do nothing to fix this broken, corrupt reality?”