I watch, almost holding my breath as she starts to masturbate, the flush of her face showing she's clearly embarrassed, clearly humiliated and obvious...y turned on. The only sounds in the room are her heavy breathing as she inches closer to orgasm and her fingers deep in her now soaking cunt. Moving beside her I instruct her to continue as I slip the clamps from her nipples, tongue soothing them keeping them stiff as she gets herself closer to a well earned orgasm. Leaning close, I whisper in. Jan felt neglected and selfishly so; he should be with her right at this moment, looking after her, not out, risking life and limb to save complete strangers. It was a selfish thought, she knew it, but you can't help the way you feel, she told herself by way of absolution.He did belong home. He did belong in their bed, where she wouldn't mind being now, curled against him in the after glow of sex. He belonged here; with a baby in his arms, cradling a delicate head as he looked on in wonder at. .. why not. soon they one girl came in with tied long hair on her back and black make up on her face. Immediately smashed thought in my head - what a slut! she gave me no look and set on her table, unfolded her papers and doing her stuff... i felt humiliated not even a word was dropped out of her mouth as hi, or nice to meet u. she was in her stuff, and i coughed loudly and shortly, now she took her head up and noticed me.we exchanged some words, and that was it.but it was already. The changing sexual culture swirling around us, however, also shook our marital bed with ideas of greener grass on the other side of the marriage fence, not just doing different positions together.We didn't talk about it. It was in our marriage closet. By the latter half of the 1970s, the sexual revolution of the sixties was over. Sex had won. Now everyone was "doing it". An eighteen-year-old virgin was a source of ridicule. Couples like us who missed the free love boat were urged to get.