He closed the door so we could have privacy as I confessed my sins to him and then sat behind his desk.“Alright Sister Marshall, what can I do for y...u today?” he asked.“Would you mind calling me Julie Bishop Stephens? When you call me Sister Marshall it feels like you’re talking to my mom.” I responded.“Okay Julie. I can do that if you’re okay with calling me Max.”“Okay Max.”“So what did you want to see me about today Julie?” Max asked as he looked at me across his desk.“Well, there’s no. I could easily see her cunt slit through the thong.The third bitch of the group, Stella, pulled up in front of our house. I could not see how she was dressed; but I could imagine that sensual woman would be wearing some hot outfit as her girlfriends.They left and I stayed at home. The hours passed very, very slowly. All I could imagine was my sexy wife fucked by those three men.At midnight, the women were still out somewhere. Finally, the lights of Stella's car appeared in our driveway.A few. I turned and walked over to him tracing his lip line with cum coated fingers. One of his hands rose up my leg meeting my pouting pussy lips. I looked down at his beautiful black cock, astounded that it was already coming back to life.I mentally ordered myself, "Time to fulfill your dreams. Take all of your first big black cock!"Kneeling over him and straddling his legs I slowly lowered myself down onto that first big black cock being held upright for my married white pussy. My profusely wet. Let the imagination flow. Run alongside the river. Follow it. See where it goes.bread transformedLove is such a beautiful thing. Though… It’s not unique. Not meant to last forever. Must end at some point. End here then begin again elsewhere. Death followed by birth. There lies the beauty of it. It follows the natural cycle of change. Follows the course of time. Look to the bread left out. It goes stale. Then goes bad. Then goes rotten. Then composted. Then it transforms into something else in.