I grasped her waist with both my hands & briefly made circular motions around her belly button with my fingers. I took the gown higher & higher above ...er head & finally removed it from her body and dropped it on the floor. Without even a sigh, she cooperated in the exercise of stripping her nude by briefly raising her hands above her head. Now except for the panty, she was sitting completely naked in front of me. Our conversation had probably stopped a while ago, but she was still engrossed in. I braced myself, chocolate-colored hands pressed against his athletic, milk-white thighs, spit beginning to overflow from my mouth as his hardness continued its assault on my throat. Before long, he’s building up a steady pace.I tap his thigh as even more distinctive gagging noises make their way from my increasingly full and blocked throat. My hands begin to dig into his thighs ever more urgently, and I feel his hands clench into my hair, his right hand having long abandoned its exploration of. At the first I'd of course skulk down and listen at the bottom of the hallway bathroom door opening. Get right down on my knees. I could hear fine, their post coitus/orgasm/pillow talk. What I really was listening for (after those three) were signs and signals of mutiny, deception, conspiracy. Did I wish to hear such? I cannot lie. It is inexplicable, but, persists to this day. That would never happen though, ever. My name was rarely spoken of. When it was it was just in passing, the humdrum.. (he 64 years old. My wife is 33). Based on his pictures I figured he was late forties or early fifties tops.I knew in a second there's not a snowballs chance in hell she would be into him. I should have cancelled right there but I didn'tThe whole time I was chatting with him, I kept visualizing him with my wife. How would he approach her, his technique, his hands on her were some things that made me wonder. I also thought of my fantasy. In fantasies everything goes perfect. In reality, things.