Sometimes it’s those tender moments after sex with a bull th..

Sometimes it’s those tender moments after sex with a bull that can be the most awkward for me with my husband in the same room. When the wild heat of the moment has passed, but my adoration for the masculine power of my alpha bull has yet to fully wane. Maybe my husband had only moments before watched me riding my y0ung lover, feverishly bouncing my wet, unprotected cunt up and down his rigid sex organ, desperately coaxing my bull to relent and breed my married pussy. Now, curled next to him in a state of post coital bliss, my face cuddled into the crook of his neck, I’m unwilIing to part from him just yet. As I gently caress his gorgeous broad chest, I might drape my leg innocently over his muscular thighs, unintentionally giving my husband an unobstructed view of my noticeably unfaithful pussy. As I coo in my bull’s ear how no man as ever owned me so thoroughly, a pearly bead of his potent semen might form on the edge of my still swollen labia, providing my husband with undeniable evidence of my lover’s complete satisfaction with my efforts. Perhaps seconds later, gravity will overwhelm it, sending it on its slow journey down my upper thigh, en route to the already filth-laden sheets of our marital bed. Or maybe hubby’s watching as I gently cradle my stud’s heavy scrotum in my soft little palm, my pretty lips sealed tight around his shaft as he enjoys his cataclysmic orgasm inside my married mouth, pumping rope after rope of his virile y0ung seed into the back of my throat as our eyes remain unblinkingly locked on one another. Now, nearly a full ten minutes later, he’s still watching as I lay naked with my spent bull, continuing to lavish his magnificent penis with tender kisses while ever so gently trying to milk yet one last precious drop from the tip. And maybe I’m still so enamored with my lover’s manhood that I can’t stop myself from telling him over an over how beautiful and amazing that I find it. How much I love it. How I’m enslaved to it. Maybe I’m even thanking him for letting me service it with my mouth all the way to climax, and how I love how I can still taste the fruits of my effort. And how must it feel to my husband when I shamelessly pledge to always be his swallowing little cum dumpster, reminding him over and over how my talented lips and tongue are but one phone call away. Yes, those are the awkward moments, when the passion of the sexual act itself has subsided, but my devotion to my bull’s sexual needs is still cascading from my every pour. I always fear that, in those quiet and tender times with a bull, my husband might begin to fear that the lines might be blurring. This is, without one single solitary doubt, never the case. But just as a female’s chemistry can be slow to heat, it can also be equally slow to cool. And that, as they say, is just the cost of doing business. At least for my sweet husband, anyway.