Anyhow, Brian and Jim somehow had got to talkingabout how wives are usually offended by kinky desires butprofessionals are happy to satisfy them, beca...se they make forhappy clients and return visits. Jim must have said somethingmore, because here he was, carrying his boss's seal of approval.My receptionist said that this new client was so embarrassed hedidn't dare look up at her. He was waiting in the parlor. Well,that's where I keep a half-a-dozen videotapes going, gay, lesbian,straight,. I imagine our scents would mingle in the air around us. Entwining as we have entwined. Joining as we have joined. Creating a single scent, as we were a single being for a time. What does it taste like? Salty. Unique. I imagine what sampling your skin would be like, learning you with my tongue as I have with my hands. Seeking out the very essence of you. What does real sex sound like? Fast. Low. Surely not like the theatric screams, moans, and grunts of pornography. I imagine the panting, the. ."I’m gonna…Damon I’m gonna cum." He finished shakily. He was helpless against the on-coming explosion.A suck, a lick, and a swirl of his tongue and then Tristan was crying out, spilling down Damon's throat in long, ragged pulses, his eyes closed tight. The orgasm which slammed into him, rocked him and took his breath like he had been hit by a truck."Fuuuuck!" Tristan yelled, his back arching, and then again as he kept shooting. The ecstasy sizzling down his spine kept him coming, his balls. I wanted to stay, wanted to be his wife, be all he ever wanted. But could I? I wasn't even sure, what he had seen in me before this incident with the IED. And now? Scarred, still even skinnier than I had been, the nearly non-existent tits. I bit back the tears, turned away, though all I wanted was to be in his arms.“It's better this way, you”, I swallowed. “You deserve better than this, someone... someone you want to touch, to hold, to fuck...”“Bullshit MacDonald”, he interrupted me. With two.