I steadied my breathing and listened to my body, asI had learned from a woman I knew who taught yoga. I don't know exactlyhow to put it into words, bu... something was wrong. I could feel it. I nolonger felt wholly like myself. I told myself it was just the stress of mysituation, but it was clear that I had somehow "softened" all over, forlack of a better word.I heard the chink of a chain and snap of a lock. The door opened. A manwalked into the room holding a tray with a plate of food and what. You know... and I thought it might help." It might help. What does your husband say about it?" asked Beryl."Oh, I haven't mentioned it to him yet." I suggest you talk to your husband and get back to me. Of course, you could have some time at the cottage anyway if he does not want to go ahead with the assistance, as you call it," said Beryl Lancer.That evening Ruth, after a couple of false starts, spoke to her husband John. "I saw Lorraine Robertson today, her and Alan are all lovey-dovey. Lyn’s husband was a unique character which some could align with the ‘Aussie bushy’. He was a rough type who told stories which were often exaggerated to the extreme. Many of his stories had him as the ‘hero’ solving the almost unsolvable problems or the great lover with no equal. His normal dress was stubby shorts, a T shirt and thongs.Some may think that Lyn’s husband would not be liked but in fact the opposite was the case. Most people once they got to know him accepted that few of his. He wasn't cumming; his cock was expanding. I turned to see him pulling off his jacket. He spread it on the ground, never taking his cock from my ass. He guided me to the jacket and onto my hands and knees. When we were both on the ground, he slowly rolled me over onto my back."That's better," he said, "I want to see your face as I fuck you."He placed my legs over his shoulders, and began pumping into me. The leaves beneath the jacket rustled and crushed. I grabbed his formidable biceps and held.