A roaring filled my ears. Tony’s prick visibly hardened. Miss Frothinglips knelt on the overstuffed armchair and tossed her skirts over her back. I noted she was without drawers. Between her bared cheeks, her corrugated orifice gleamed with sticky salve. Without touching her, other than his throbbing cock, nor speaking, with a tremendous thrust of his hips, in an instant, his buttoned jacket smacked her bottom firmly. She did not utter a word. Not a breath. Not a whimper. I was astounded at her composure. Tony did not waste time, but viciously sawed in and out like a demented carpenter.
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