Angela moaned low—throaty, desperate—then forced it back, glancing toward the tree's edge where Mira waited. "You're gonna make me cum just from walking, aren't you? Bare pussy rubbing, clit throbbing, your confiscated panties in your pocket like a fucking trophy… heh… fine."
"But if Mira notices—if she sees how shiny my thighs are, how my pussy lips are all puffy and glistening—she's gonna know. And then what, husband? You gonna confiscate hers too?"
I smirked, giving her ass one last hard smack—cheeks jiggling, the sound sharp in the quiet night. "Maybe. But first… let's go back. Nice and slow."
"Let her get a good look at my wife's bare, dripping cunt under that top. And if she asks why you're walking funny… tell her the truth. Your husband took your panties… and now your pussy's leaking for him."
Angela showed me an annoyed look—half playful glare, half genuine frustration—but the heat in her eyes betrayed how turned on she still was.
