Apart from the topic of conversation, it was a normal, sexually-stereotypical scene as found in millions of households every night.“Call him what yo... like,” my lover of eight years, partner of five and husband of three grumpily suggested. “It’s what you do with him that counts, not what you call him.”“What do you call Sarah?” I asked.“Sarah!” came the sulky reply.I couldn’t blame David for his attitude. Even in an open marriage like ours, it couldn’t be easy for a husband to have to listen to. ‘I think that should be fine. What time should I call?’ ‘I was thinking maybe you could come over here, out to my little ranch. Don’t you think that would be better?’ Liesel bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a groan. ‘All right, okay, sure.’ ‘Great. Just stop by whenever, afternoon is usually a good time. I’ll give you the address, if you have a pen handy.’ Riverside was a three-hour drive, as it turned out. So Liesel was on her way to farm country. She passed through electric green hills. The company man inserted the keyand turned it, unlatching the boot's protective plates. Once theywere pushed aside, all could see the coveted strongbox."Now step away," the lead badman ordered. When the guard gave back,two of the robbers, the pair who had so far not said a word, went totake the loot. The bigger one tried to lift the chest and exclaimed,"Shoot! The damned thing must weigh a lot more than a hundredpounds!"There was silence for a moment, then the lead badman yelled,. Fiona screamed as I did so and it galvanised Tony into his diatribe again. ‘Slut, slut, slut’ he murmured slowly ‘pound that wet slut pussy, make her come again’. The words had a magic effect as Fiona’s head dropped to the seat and she started to moan and thrust backwards towards me to match the thrust of my forward strokes. After a while I stopped moving at all and just concentrated on rubbing my thumb backwards and forwards. Fiona’s little thrusts were keeping me at full stretch and I used.