Susan Moreau was not the type of woman who begged.
She didn’t plead, didn’t apologize, didn’t make room for lesser creatures—not in her artfully lit estate, not in her bed, and certainly not in her heart.
Her husband had died seven years ago. And no man since had been worth the weight of her last name.
But tonight?
Tonight she was soaking the velvet armchair in her study.
One leg thrown over the side. Robe hanging loose. t**s out. c**t glistening.
The porn on her tablet was quiet but relentless—a young man with a thick c**k and a flushed face sucking on a woman’s n*****s like it was his only purpose.
Calling her “ma’am.”
“Please, let me taste it.”
Susan’s fingers slid slowly through her p***y.
Hot. Creamy. Shaved to bare.
Her other hand circled her n****e—dark and stiff, the col
