He arrived home well into the afternoon. There was no sound of building activity, no noise from a saw, drill or a hammer, the place was as quite as a ...orgue. The house was silent, he put down his papers and it was only when he went into the back room did he find his wife. She was sitting on the lounge, totally unaware that he was there, she was a mess. Her hair was a shambles, much of it almost clued down with the essence of men's balls. Her tits showed evidence of rather rough handling, around. Bellana was there drying her hair with a towel. Either she hadn't heard me knocking or whatever, but she was still dripping water. She didn't seem to be at all worried about it, so I admired her and told her she was a lovely, sexy lady. I grabbed my comb and started to leave, but she said, "Steven -- my turn."I'd had my look, so she deserved hers. I linked with her just enough to know when to turn around and what she wanted to see. Apparently she wasn't too upset with what she saw, because she. I toyed with the idea of becoming a Top myself -but it was simply not inmy nature and I had enjoyed so many years of getting my own way as'slave' that I was unwilling to give it up. Of course I used the internetfor wank relief, lying like mad and depicting myself as years youngerthan I actually was. And of course in the safety of cyberland I couldbecome a slave to the extent that I had never been able to achieve inlife. Whips don't hurt on the internet! Nor do brandings, piercings,nipple. “How do I not know,” he asked.“Oh, I grew up over in Hillsdale, replied the interior decorating major at the local junior college.“Ah! Look exactly like what I want. Do you live alone. I wanna get next to you now.”“No, but my roommate won’t be back home tonight.”“Oh! Come scoop me up. I want that dark chocolate fag pussy!”“Uh, okay. Where are you?”I’ll walk down to the highway. It’s like three miles from you.”“Okay! I’m on my way.”A green Honda Civic alongside the bulky walking corner back..