I didn't know if she was struggling to calm down or if she was savoring the memories. I wondered if she was thinking about some of the other things we...discussed. If she was, I wondered if she was looking forward to them or dreading them.I parked near a restaurant with a deck that looked out over the ocean. I waited for her to get out and locked the car. I took her arm and as I led her away I quietly said, "That was just an appetizer. It's all going to happen this week. All of it."She didn't say. It could only mean one thing—couldn't it? Twenty plus years down the shitter? I had to know. All those years and nary even a suspicion that she was unhappy with me or with our sex life; well, again, except for the past year. Looking back now it had started, I'm guessing, around the time of our Christmas party year before last. After that things in the bedroom went slowly downhill. It wasn't all that noticeable at first, but had become a bone of contention lately: twice a month doesn't do it for. Of course, the average citizen didn'tgo about, writing fantasy stories of women being broiled, spitted, roastedand basted either. He reflected on this as he started his car. He kept to himself, didn't likebars or loud parties, hated sports. So what was wrong with this little hobby?It was harmless, really. Only those who couldn't distinguish between what hewrote and reality had a problem. And as far as he knew, the online snuff communitydidn't go out like Jehovah's witnesses and try to inhale. When I saw Bob's fingers' slide down into the hot valley between her open legs, my heart started pounding heavier and delicious shivers tingled in the pit of my stomach.Lynda's moans were becoming louder, and her small hand moved faster as it slid up and down the length of my husband's prick. Bob's hand was inside her panties, and I knew from her writhing and whimpering that his experienced fingers were manipulating her eager little clitoris. My clit was erect and more sensitive than it had.