February 2016
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I cleared my throat. Tyrone was obviously getting excited. And so was I. My cock was rock hard.
“Well, not unusually,” Priya replied. She was station against the wall of their basement, legs spread apart in a wide posture, with thick leather straps wrapped around her ankles and tied to the solid metal frame of the squat rack. Her arms were similarly stretched out and tied to opposite corners above her premier. “I’m a little cold.” Priya was wearing her old University of Minnesota shirt, but the flimsy gray configuration did little to shelter her from the basement’s polar. And with her arms up over her head, the shirt barely covered the waistband of her comfortable black panties. Her nipples, hardened from the deadening, were clearly visible. Her skin pimpled with goosebumps as she shivered. She felt distinctly unsexy.
Amy looked likely to explode. “God damn it, Willie! She’s a FAWC remember? Fornicating, Adulterous, Whoring, Cheat!” She was still arguing her case, standing right beside me, watching my the missis suck my cock.
It was all she could do to not spin the tires as she tore down the street, rounded the corner on two wheels or so it seemed and in less than a minute braked tough turning into the La Quinta Inn less than three blocks from her house. At worst when she had parked did she remember to text Greg.
I didn´t bother to read the rest. This really hit me. First she was having the bastard´s child, now she was marrying him? Fuck them. Seriously. But it hurt nonetheless. Boy, did it hurt.
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