It was with that in mind that I invited Meriel James and his wife to join me for cocktails on the evening of a Friday in late September together with ... number of my other clients.It was hot; so different from the cold and damp Spring evening on which we first met. We were in the drawing room. The doors to the garden outside were open, providing us with a breath of air that brought with it the scent of late summer flowers and the suggestion of the onset of Autumn.There were, I suppose two dozen. Or I could just let her watch while I castrated myself with a hammer. We watched in near silence, the occasional sound of her zipper creating far more tension than the sight of a quartet of gaily dressed minions spilling out of the car. They looked, appropriately, like candy-asses. Candy-asses on steroids. With guns. Big guns. And a hostage, a young woman wrapped in a cocoon of clear plastic wrap. “Illegal enough for you, boss?” “Which? The guns or the girl?” I growled, my ire up. I’d always. ...feeling i was already highly excited.I ran my fingers along her inner thighs, teasing her skin towards her molten honeypot, til i felt my fingers slide into her soft folds delicately , her moan giving away her her excitement of this stranger alongside her.Hubby had moved closer in the excitement , but still away from her gaze behind her, stood with his impressive hardon , wanking , his bulbous helmet disappearing in his grip , before popping out again as he pulled his foreskin down. When I looked at him, I asked why? He said that to keep up appearances with the neighbors and his business associates, it would look better if they thought we were engaged. Since we live together and do everything else that married couple do, his logic made complete sense and it was a thrill looking at my long nailed fingers and seeing that diamond that told the world that I belong to this man.My wife and I got along surprisingly well during this time. Almost like lesbians. Since I was living.