“Are you sure you want me to fuck your slutty wife, man…?”Bertrand asked me politely, as he massaged his huge black cock.“Just go ahead… fuc... her as she deserves it…” I hissed quietly.He asked Ana if she had felt a black cock in her before and she told a little lie, answering she had never done it. Bertrand smiled and asked my wife to guide it in for him…The guy looked at me again; the bastard wanted me to see my own wife guiding his black cock into her tight married white pussy. Anita reached. I talked for about 10 minutes,then reminded her of the time difference. She reluctantly said good bye,and I drove for the closet to get dressed or undressed as the case might be. Everything looked wonderful,I looked wonderful,I stood there marveling ata me I would not have even chose to allow. At five till midnight I approached the window,the house dark, the outside lights off.I stood on the window seat, attached the cuffs,spread my arms and legs and was there --on display,for all. “You have to be very careful and hold both our hands while crossing the street.”“Okay.”Craig handed over the poem, and Anne -- prompted by Al -- thanked him. He took the books she was carrying and put them with his in the back pack. When they got to the next street, Craig grabbed Anne’s wrist. She was still clutching the paper.She thought his concern for Anne’s safety endearing. So, for that matter, was his emphasis that she pronounce ‘poem’ correctly and ignore her missing the G in his name.. In 1939, a man was hired by the son of George Martin to bulldoze the house down. Before the dozer got to within ten feet of the house, the track on one side came off. Once that was fixed, he attempted to push the house down again, and as soon as the dozer blade hit the house all the electrical in the machine fried and electrocuted the man running the machine. The dozer was towed away, and the house sat for another fifty years, never aging.This is where I come in to the story. My name is Robert.