“Do you really need to get that?” My husband asked giving me attitude.“Fine, I’ll leave it.” I said sitting back down. John must be texting...me, I thought to myself. I spent the next five minutes thinking of an excuse to run upstairs and grab it.“Hun, can I have a piece of your sandwich?” I asked, noticing the red sauce that dripped down the front of his shirt. He tore off the end and handed it to me without saying a word.“Damn, this sandwich just dripped sauce all over my shirt.” I said. ”The corners of my wife’s mouth twitched. “Oh I was never actually a star as such,” she said, a little bit of light returning to her eyes. “It was all shoestring stuff, remember?”“All the same,” I said. “You were obviously very good at your job.”That made my wife laugh. “It helps to enjoy what you do.” Then she became serious. “I’m sorry, that…”“You don’t have to apologise,” I interrupted. “Not anymore.”There was a renewed silence. Then my wife’s hand slowly found its way back to my knee. She. Just then, he heard a latch being undogged, and looked up."Why, Mr. Bostwick," came the sarcastic drawl of John Caldwell, "We've been waiting for you."While not mentioning it, John made a good point of showing the old Colt .45 Magnum in his hand."Why don't you come in?" John undogged the rest of the latches, raised the trap door, and lowered the stairs.Barry climbed in, figuring he'd have to catch them off guard with his own weapon later. He walked down the long hallway, down the dip past the. This time he had control of her. Her moans stopped when she felt his finger at her asshole. He started to push it past the ring when she instinctively clamped down. His fingers wiggling in her pussy relaxed her enough for him to push past the opening and deep into her ass. She started to object, but when the fingers in her pussy met the finger in her ass, her world exploded. Her moans turned into a guttural growl. He rubbed the wall between her ass and her pussy as she tried to move her ass.