Hot Anus Videos
Kidnapped, she takes her guard's virginity.
"Couldn't do that," Agatha replied, her body shivering when she felt her father-in-law lean into her a little. "Just wasn't expecting company."
"So I noticed," Hank said, and when Agatha raised her hands to put what she was chopping in the bowl, she almost dropped what she was holding when she felt his fingers slide around and rub her exposed underarms. "I kinda like it. I get 5 o'clock shadow too you know."
Agatha squirmed and wiggled but didn't yell or run, and when a grinning Hank Sutton noticed that he kept going. His thumbs lightly stroked the moist peach fuzz and he felt his daughter-in-law begin to relax under his kinky massage.
"Like father - like son," Agatha mumbled as she looked down and saw her nipples poking out into the bra and blouse noticeably.
"My boy does this to you?" Hank asked, and when she nodded he chuckled.
"He even tells me not to shave at all in the winter," Agatha confessed.
"I'd like to see that," Hank opined.
"You have no idea what that looks like," Agatha giggled. "It's scary."
"I have an idea about what it would look like," Hank replied as he thought about these muscular caverns of hers with all that peach fuzz grown out. "It's nothing I haven't seen before - and I don't scare easily."
"I'll bet you don't," Agatha retorted, and as she looked out at the deck where her mother-in-law and her husband were yakking away she mused aloud. "What would they say if they saw what you were doing to me?"
"They would say something like why is she letting Dad do that to her?" Hank suggested as his hands emerged and went to Agatha's sides. "They already know I'm a pervert."
"What do you think I should say about what you're doing?" Agatha mused aloud.
"I think that you like being touched by a man - a real man," Hank offered as he slowly slid his hands towards her breasts, and unlike an earlier attempt Agatha did not stop him. "Not a wimp who probably sashays around the house in an apron dusting things and hoping for an invitation to jump your bones."
"Mark doesn't wear an apron," Agatha replied, but made no other protest either of her father-in-law's words or his actions, allow when his hands cupped her breasts she did say, "You know if either one of them look back here they'll see you, don't you?"
"Adds to the thrill, doesn't it babe?" Hank asked as he felt her nipples staining to burst through the layers of fabric, and feeling bold went further. "What would be really hot is if I slipped down your shorts and panties..."
"Can't do that Dad," Agatha chuckled. "Not wearing any."
"Even better," Hank replied as he looked over her shoulders at the nipples he was now pinching between his thumbs and index fingers, and to his delight when he squeezed them harder she didn't complain.
"Were you drinking before you came over?" Agatha asked.
"Just a couple," Hank said. "It's not booze making me do this - it's something else. Can you feel it?"
"Yes," Agatha said of what was prodding her behind.
"I won't do it, but if I were to slide my hand down the front of your shorts, I wouldn't find you shaved your pussy, would I?"
"Would that matter?"
"To me it would," Hank replied as he nibbled his daughter-in-law's neck. "Something tells me you don't shave your cunt, and that you have a big sweet triangle of curls down there."
"Think so?" Agatha asked with an upraised eyebrow before continuing. "Only one way to find out - unless I just go ahead and tell you."
"No fun in that," Hank snickered, and while he usually didn't think twice about doing whatever the hell he wanted, he did hesitate before reaching over and sipping his hand under the elastic of his daughter-in-law's shorts.
"Hmmm - nice," Hank sighed when his fingers reached the timberline of Agatha's pubic hair. "So soft, and so much of it too, just like I thought. Oh. What's this? You're wet."
"What do you expect?" Agatha wheezed as her husband's father found her puffy labia through the dense bush, her legs parting a little to give his finger access. "You must think I'm a pig, letting you do this?"
"What does that m