As my leg brush against him, I could feel a larger pouch than was usually there. This was going to be an interesting evening. Our son, suddenly catchi...g on, asked if he could be excused to enjoy the out-of-doors. We said yes. The look in my husband’s eyes gave everything away. We were headed upstairs. We cuddled on the bed with the music still in the background. As he started to talk about something else, he suddenly hushed and kissed me. Deeply and passionately the kiss went on for a long. A one pump chump. Easiest five grand ever. Maybe I should become a prostate. Then I felt a new pair of hands on my hips, followed by a second rough penetration. I looked down at the stop watch. 40 minutes remained. I realized I was about to get repeatedly violated until the time was up. But it wasn't like it was about to get worse. Someone already came inside me, and everyone was clean... I relaxed as the man began to plunge his dick in and out of my exposed vagina.I had sold myself for this. I. Then she drops the towel.She stood tip toe and kissed me. Before I could approve or complain she dropped my boxer briefs to the floor. This was something new. She knelt down and then, before I brace myself, she takes me in her mouth.Looking down I see her wet brown hair swaying with the rhythm of her head bobbing back and forth on my dick. IT was great.She stopped before long saying, "I just wanted to prep you." She stood up, turned her back to me, placed her hands on the wall in front of her. “Well, if I had been born to you, my parents, I would have been a Hatch. Maybe Louis Hatch, Jr. I don’t know for sure. Maybe Pierre Hatch, after your uncle. Instead, I was aborted by my own mother, your ex-wife, Melanie Hatch. Your mother, my grandmother, was named Emmanuelle Marie-Louise Duchamp, in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. I know that much. She married Reverend Andrew Hatch, converted to Protestant, Baptist Christianity instead of voodoo, but you returned to her faith, rejecting your father’s.