Talk about pressure.Actually, it’s worse than that; more like a weight, a crushing stress of sorts, trying to collapse my resolve. I think its goal ...s to paralyze, to enforce inaction, like a preservation instinct and I’m pretty sure it’s deeply held by more than just me. After all, if we don’t run headfirst into danger, we’re less likely to be injured.Or so the thinking goes.I’m tempted by this all the time. Sadly, it’s a piss poor instinct, especially in a case like this, as my hesitation. With sudden eagerness, he was lifting her up and off him.She looked at him and now, for the first time he could remember, so far, she was unsure.He turned her around and over the desk.She obviously was reassured by this, as he could tell she was now smiling though pants and little moans. As he reached down, taking hold of himself, her juices were all over his cock, and he couldn't remember a time where his wife had ever been that wet.He pushed his raging member down and towards her entrance,. I was also very aware of how such sessions with Georgina sometimes ended, and, although I doubted that she would permit such liberties, the thought sent illicit thrills through my body.‘I’m back, my lady,’ I said quietly as I returned with the dark brown bottle in my hand.There was no reply from the bathroom. I put the bottle on the window ledge to warm in the sun and went to tidy the discarded clothes. Crossing to the wardrobe, I glanced towards the bathroom door. Through the gap I had a brief. Plus he’s super hippy. I could never trust him with my secret identity.’Her indecision turned to a twisting gnaw in her gut as she stared at the phone and tucked it back in her shots. Finally, she let out another helpless shrieking growl.She pulled out her phone and just texted him:>> Hey ;)No response. A minute later she checked and saw his little bubble pop up. He was typing! No response. Why? What was he typing? Why did he stop? Why wouldn’t he respond. Fuck, couldn’t he tell from the winky.