Emilie, on her part, bore it very well, much better than I could have considered possible. After two or three natural expressions, such as “Ah! Oh!” brought about by the huge cock first forcing an entrance, she ably reciprocated his lunging shoves. I particularly noticed that she bent down, so that by looking under her belly she could see Father Eustace's entire performance, and the noble prick and dangling balls he was working with.
His hairy belly formed a beautiful contrast as it continued to pump with a smacking sound against her milk white bottom, and indeed, it was a very delicious sight.
I dared not look at my mother, but as I stood in one corner with my arms around my aunt's waist in an attitude of fear and intimidation, I could not for the life of me help putting my hands into her robe. I groped around until with one hand I felt the lowermost swell of her generous tits. I fairly crushed the soft globe as I searched for the pebble-stiff nipple that soon rose beneath my insistent encouragement. My other hand was equally busy, raking her belly and exploring downward until it found the warm cavern entrance covered with a forest of growth. I ran my fingers through the silky hair, then allowed one digit to probe the slit that seemed to bloom eagerly – and greedily – beneath my fumbling explorations. She never so much as whispered an objection, even though she must have been feeling something rather queer. For there was a prominent bulge in the front of my frock, such as no girl could exhibit unless she had pocketed a cucumber or a rolling pin.