The sofa was nicely cushioned in a dark gray, and I instantly envisioned the love of my life curled up on the sofa like a sleeping kitten. The coffee ...able had a nice flowering plant I could not identify as well as several area guide books and a Room Service menu. The main table supported an elegant lamp and a telephone, and was large enough for two people to sit and work or eat, with a pair of tall-backed leather chairs for comfort. She disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the light,. At any given time, Mozart or Ravel could be heard wafting over the backyard fences.When my wife was at home dying of cancer, she always wanted her window opened just a crack just so she could hear the melodies (no matter how badly they were sometimes performed.)She died in April at the age of twenty-nine. Camelia brought a pan of chicken spaghetti over after the funeral. She sat on the sofa and cried - partly for my loss and partly for her own. Then, she went home to her empty house and I. I was pulled up, as the guy sat on the sofa, then I was pulled back down, down onto his waiting cock. I sank onto it, taking it all. Now it was my turn to fuck him. Up and down, taking it almost all the way out, before sliding down the long shaft. I opened my eyes, and looked to the side of me, where Marta fucked. Her skin shone with sweat. I saw beyond her, others fucking. I saw too guys standing watching, wanking there cocks. The camera was still there, no camera’s. Before I could think,. I bet she would not. Men surrounding us were watching her intently. They were stroking their cocks.Dipti stood out with her Indian skin compared to the white skin that was seen in large numbers. And here I was the luckiest dude on the beach who dare not strip in front of her. My train of thoughts was broken as Dipti walked up to me and asked me to unhook her bra. I practically choked, my hands shook, as I unhooked her bra. She turned around and gave me an eyeful. I wanted to grab her, kiss her.