...dies upon it.
The soft creak of the bed could be heard now, and in the dim light of the room she could see her father�Homer, kneeling behind her mother�Marge.
Homer had a handful of�Marge‘s hair, from behind, and his lower body was pressed firmly against hers. Marge’s head was arched back and her luscious ass was arched up against Homer.
The dimness of the light reduced the image to black and white, Marge’s ass looking smooth, round, and unblemished, and her father’s muscles rippling as he hunched into his writhing wife.
The covers were a heaped mess on the floor at the foot of the bed, and Lisa noticed that her mother was all but shredding the bottom sheet with her long fingernails which dug into the mattress deeply for support.
Lisa felt a knot in her stomach, one that twisted all the way down between her young legs.
Homer moved in slow, even strokes, arching his back and thrusting into Marge with long, deep jabs.
Each thrust brought a primal growl from deep inside Marge’s throat, and Lisa watched her mother’s hips move back instinctively, forcing Homer’s huge shaft deeper inside her.
“God! You’re so fuckin’ tight like this Marge!” Homer whispered, his words carrying, easily to Lisa’s ears in the nearby hallway.
Marge half moaned, half sighed her response, pushing her upper body up on her hands, her full breasts swaying beneath her slim, supple body.
“Fuck me hard H...