And not just any man, she thought, but a Black man. Beyond fantasy, she had never considered the idea of screwing anyone besides her d...rling husband. And, she certainly had never considered the idea of fucking a Black man. But she knew that many men had fantasies about watching their women fucking other men. She never dreamed her husband was one of these men. He knew his wife, and he knew that to get her to become the naughty girl of his dreams, he was going to. I thought to myself that I hoped he did not cut his story short just so he could have me pleasure that fleshy tube of loving meat. ”I spotted an old Indian in worn Levis on a sway-backed tired old pinto horse, resting in the slight shade of a equally tired old cottonwood tree. As I got nearer, I guess the old Indian noticed I had both a canteen of water and more water bottles on my back pack and he spoke to me, ’I sure hope you have a bit of water to share with me, Mister.’” Verne reached to. Just need to think about logistics." "Cool. Didn't think it would be that soon. I can't wait to fuck you, bent over my kitchen table." This was a fantasy that we had both talked about. "Me too, but first I want to be on my knees in front of you while I suck your cock. I want to be covered in your cum." I typed back to him. There was a lull in the chat while I answered a diving related question somebody asked me. "What are you up to?" He asked. "Just had to help someone with something. You?" "I. ”“Come on, Reece, that’s a little gross. You don’t need to get nasty here,” Paul said.Toni, the center of attention that moment, sat staring at the table and waving her hands over the scarred wood very slowly. Her eyes were glazed over, but there was a faint smile on her face as if she knew a secret no one else at the table did.She looked up at everyone and grinned. “My last name’s Sporano, not Soprano, but Sporano. Reece thinks I’m related to a fictional character on HBO. I can’t convince him.