I pulled back. Dragged my cock downward. The head slid between her cheeks, over the anal, down to her pussy. I rubbed against her lips — the cotton fabric still between us, but soaked through, the heat of her cunt radiating through the wet material.
She cried. "Not there — please — that's not for you — that is for my husband."
"I'm just making it wet, mother-in-law," I said. My voice was calm. The voice of a man explaining a technical process. "Lubrication is essential for anal penetration. The body needs to be prepared."
The logic was sound. The medical terminology was reassuring. The fact that it was a complete manipulation — that I was rubbing my cock against her pussy through her panties because the friction felt incredible and the pheromone exposure was driving her insane — was secondary.
