My own cock was rock hard in my suit pants. I was a fifteen year's older than my wife, which meant over 20 years older than the young stud fucking her... He was tall, muscular, and endowed with a cock a least half again as big as mine. My wife was in perfect shape, her slim hips, tight ass, and full firm tits more than enough to draw the eye of this young man. I should have been pissed but something about watching the ecstasy on my wife's face and the powerful fucking action of the young guy made. The doors closed and we moved off again. The certainty that she had been deliberately staring at my breasts and nipples – and presumably enjoying the view – made me feel quite excited. The carriage was much quieter now, and I looked at the tube map. I decided to get off at the next stop, which was Holland Park, cross to the adjacent platform and get on one of the eastbound trains, back towards central London again. As I stood on the platform, I carefully adjusted my blouse so it was properly. "Yes, you are right; I am but a poor friend to you. What a life I cause you to lead, poor Maximilian, you who are formed for happiness! I bitterly reproach myself, I assure you." Well, what does it signify, Valentine, so long as I am satisfied, and feel that even this long and painful suspense is amply repaid by five minutes of your society, or two words from your lips? And I have also a deep conviction that heaven would not have created two hearts, harmonizing as ours do, and almost. Outnumbered 2-1 in an ambush, Grenville drove a truck through the enemy lines with two automatic cannons bolted down in the back firing on anything that moved. He took two in the chest and one in the thigh but nothing critical was hit and he was back with his team in two weeks. When the enemy sent a pack of trained attack beasts after his team, Grenville fought them off with his gun until it ran dry, used it as a club until it broke, switched to his knives, and finally resorted to his bare.