"Well, well, well," Cindy said to her husband. "Not only is little Eddie a delectable morsel, but his mother is quite a fox!"

"My love," Carl responded, "your taste is impeccable, as usual… and under Lily Granger's cool exterior, is a fucking hot little passion flower. I'd bet on it!"

Cindy Bradley was naked and lying on the satin spread which covered their king-sized bed. She had her beautiful tanned legs spread in a wanton inviting pose, exposing the softly palpitating lips of her naked cunt so tantalizingly framed by pale golden pubic hair. She was given to nude sunbathing and so her tan was full and complete, no bands of white at her hips or across her chest; her breasts, firm and voluptuous, stood like twin majestic mountains on her chest, demanding to be climbed, eager for sucking and licking, their berry-sized crests already hard and quivering with anticipation.

"Of course," she added confidently, "old talent scouts like us are never far wrong." And husband and wife laughed together in lascivious conspiracy.

Long ago they had switched to a "swinging" life style when their marriage had become dull and routine. And Carl took pride in the fact that Cindy was always ready for sex, always in a receptive mood for him because she was always ready for sex, any kind, with anybody, at any hour, just like he was. He recalled with satisfied relish the mate-swap orgy they had been to on a ranch in a deserted part of Nevada just the night before they picked up Eddie, where they had spent many abandoned hours of naked screwing with numerous other couples after a wild dog-fuck movie had been shown.