“What?” you say from behind your glass and I couldn’t possibly tell you that I’m having a conversation with myself. “My pussy is aching for ...ou” I tell you and I swear I see you mentally flick a switch before you speak. “Is it now?” in that darn tone. “Yep!” I say defiantly as I spread my legs and brazenly point to the very part of me that needs attention most. “Right there!” I say as I slip a finger inside myself, my eyes still on yours. “Well since you’ve been so good!” you mock, and then you. They both came up with the idea that I would fuck Jayne on Friday night. Starting on the Sunday before and going until early Wednesday evening I would fuck as many women or fuck the same woman as many times as I could possibly handle it. Then from Wednesday evening until Friday night I would not fuck anyone else until I had Jayne. The day they discussed this was on Friday, a week before I fucked Jayne. My wife came home and told me while Emily started to talk with Jayne about it.I told my wife. As it has a way of doing, life continued and memories faded. ‘No, he won’t call,’ she told herself quietly. ‘Why would he care anything about seeing me?’ Sunday evening, she returned from a trip to the grocery store and began carrying the bags into the kitchen of the quiet, empty house. As she was placing the milk and eggs into the refrigerator, she was shocked to feel an arm snake around her waist, pulling her backwards. A hand reached up from the other side and pressed something, a cloth she. His tardiness had been making her anxious and annoyed with it being a school night. She prepared to complain to Mr. Michaels, but quickly changed her tune when he came into the room. He was in rare form. She knew immediately that he was drunk. Not tipsy, but drunk. She could also see a giant wad of bills stuck into his shirt pocket. By the looks of it, he had been the big winner of the night.“Great night!” he said with a fist over his head in victory. “Had to take an Uber home,” he.