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by john jasson » Thu Mar 30, 2023 2:49 pm
Sherrie and I are indulging ourselves in a weekend break in York as a short interlude away from our high pressure routine. The ancient city has become one of our favourite retreats from the day to day since we first visited a few months after our big move north. We love the atmosphere of the place; so evocative it is of bygone ages, and we can easily lose ourselves together as we saunter hand in hand through the narrow streets up against the glorious Minster, around the walls, or along the banks of the River Ouse. The Roman influence can still be detected in parts of the layout, and the City Walls feature some original earthworks of the time. The whole place seems steeped in antiquity, but it is 2000 years old after all.
We need this break for our sanity because the situation with the business is becoming very stressful. There’s such a bewildering amount to deal with. We are making positive progress, but the company finances – and therefore ours too - are skating close to the edge of comfortable. The enterprise is encountering multiple growing pains that are all very cash hungry. In all honesty, we can’t really afford the hotel, and we know we shouldn’t be spending the money on such frivolity at this point, but flesh and blood can only take so much. There has to be a release valve we can blow every now and then, so here we are taking in the sights, chilling out for a spell, and just being the original loving “us” in one of our most comforting haunts.
The timing of our getaway is opportune in relation to our wild sexual adventure too. We are fitting this lovely weekend in after Sherrie’s regular Thursday night to Friday morning swim, sex, submission and training extravaganza with Geoff. She’s told me he’s been especially brutal to her this week, and when we’re making out as she edges me repeatedly, agonisingly, beautifully, to distraction on the king sized hotel bed on the Saturday evening, she confides that all her muscles are still aching from the hard workout and run training, and her bottom and upper thighs remain sore from his cane, making it uncomfortable when she sits. She insists it’s a good hurt though. During a drinks break in our own action, I run my fingers over the angry reddish purple wheals he has raised on the backs of her smooth pale pink thighs, and I can only wonder at the state of her buttocks right now. I recall that I saw her wince as we sat down to dinner earlier:
J: Pull your knickers down and show me the rest.
I know she will do no such thing. She affects shock and indignation.
S: Certainly not. Don’t even ask! My discipline is private between my Master and me.
She’s wearing her speciality shit eating grin. It’s kind of a “fuck you” expression, but it’s mocking me in the nicest possible way. This look is playful mean rather than evil mean, if you can discern the distinction, but she won’t back down. I smile at her as our crazy vibe rages strong and unspoken between us.
S: I’m soaking wet every time my mind wanders back to the memory of how completely he took me apart on Thursday night. He can turn me into this unrecognisable trembling, weeping, orgasmic wreck of a human being. It’s startling what he reduces me to. I felt like I existed only as pent up lust for him from before the caning until after he fucked me to delirium and eventually contentment. It’s….. indescribable how easily he handles me and moves me around. Like I’m the weight of tissue paper or something. Then early Friday morning out running, he pushed me and pushed me until I thought I would drop. The power of him over me is colossal. It’s all scarily wonderful, John.
Her eyes appear to glaze over wistfully as I press on with my hopeless quest.
J: So show me what he’s done to you, and let me check you out down there like you used to. Show me. Share this.
But of course she won’t let me see her bottom or feel her pussy for myself. Despite my forlorn entreaties, her bra and knickers stay firmly in place, and she scolds me sharply when I make as though I might try to breach her defences regardless.
S: No way, John. Not happening. You keep your hands away from my Master’s property! You asked for this. You wanted me to put out to other men, and your cock is swollen like a cucumber at the mere thought of me doing it! That’s the clincher, you see. Your fundamental weakness is that I know you like it. And I like it too. And I’m going to carry on. I actually think you like this better than fucking me yourself!
She laughs, knowing I can’t deny the evidence before her eyes. It’s all angsty teasing of course. Her graphic description of being with him. The way she goads me. She plays my weirdest, innermost urges so well, and she likes to hype it right up this way.
J: For pity’s sake, Sherrie. Get hold of this prick again and carry on working your magic on it before I go completely mad. Do whatever you like but just fucking do it!
It’s an uncontrolled state she often gets me into nowadays, and I’m hooked on it. It’s already been well over an hour she’s toyed with my febrile body tonight, keeping me on the very precipice of exploding in semen or urine or maybe both. She approaches me again, and she reaches out to reconnect that exquisite contact, or so I think. Instead she grabs my balls and squeezes them hard. It’s a bad habit she’s getting into more and more, lately, and her grip feels tighter and more gleeful with each episode.
S: Maybe we call it quits for tonight, John. I’m feeling so tired now. It’s been a long week.
She knows I’m speechlessly confounded. Conflicted between my rampant need for an orgasm right now and the exquisitely cruel deprivation of having her leave me high and dry on purpose. My cock jerks in spasm in mid-air even as she crushes my bollocks in her hand. The tension is assuming almost physical form in the room until she breaks it with her cute girlie laugh.
S: I really do have the measure of you, don’t I, babe? Has a woman ever had the measure of her man so completely? Come here and let me make the decision for you. Again.
She lowers herself down to me, and takes me in her mouth to finish what she’s started with a long session of her highly skilled fellatio. I’m in heaven long before I shoot, and my climax is unworldly as she blows my mind yet again. Then for long minutes, ecstatic waves of relaxation in the afterglow. As I hold her body spooned to me, I whisper in her ear:
J: Are you OK, Sher? That was awesome for me. You are awesome. Are you sure you don’t need to come too, sweetheart?
S: No, babe. I’m getting everything I need and more.
She’s stating a fact, but of course she’s choosing her words, and she’s aware of exactly what she’s saying. Even now as we cuddle, she’s still winding me up. My worn out, aching and finally flaccid cock starts to spring to life yet again at the thought of her getting everything she needs and more. She feels it moving and she chuckles softly at my confusion, rubbing her delectable backside against it in encouragement just to let it know she’s there.
The weekend break is also the prelude to my leaving on Monday morning for a week in Scotland so we’re really stocking up on our togetherness while we still can. After the evening’s play and the spectacular orgasm she’s given me, we are still lying embraced in the luxurious setting, finally getting ourselves together again:
S: Speaking of getting everything I need, I told him you’re travelling next week. He wants me to spend the nights at his while you’re away.
It’s not an unusual thing nowadays when I’m gone, but I told her long ago that news like this has the most profoundly disorienting effect on me immediately after I orgasm. She’s never forgotten it, and she likes to take full advantage.
J: Are you going to?
S: What do you think? He’s my Master and he wants me to. And I want to. So it’s obvious. And I know you want me to, don’t I?
By this time, Sherrie’s “girl” phase in her no holds barred domination by Geoff and my denial are almost a year old. She has long openly referred to him as her “Master” to me rather than using his name. It’s plain that he has her totally in his thrall, and it pushes my buttons on many levels. She loves that it affects me so deeply and is revelling in the effects she has on both of us, I think. True to her word, she continues to ramp it up, and flaunts it in my face much more now since she withdrew my sexual rights to her body, yet this too has become a part of her excitement, and mine.
All the same, I know her early guilt lives on in her. It sometimes breaks out to the surface, and there is strong evidence of her continuing embarrassment when she questions the level of her subservience to a man who openly asserts himself as superior to her but isn’t. Over time, she seems to have found ways to take the acute contradiction between being virtually a medieval sex slave to her lover and her entire spectrum of otherwise feminist beliefs, and bury it beneath the sheer high elation she derives from their affair. I’ve noticed she doesn’t dwell on the negative impulses quite so much now as she indulges her deviancies to the extreme for her pleasure and fulfilment. She has me in her ear telling her everything is fine every day too, and my manifest excitement at her antics, so no doubt this assuages a lot of her bad, guilty thoughts. I think that bolstering her courage in this way, and having my role as a source of strength for her to pursue her desires, helps me in turn to cope with the tougher times when the demons strike. It strengthens our bond on yet another level.
Her personal development is continuing too, thank goodness. My rather impressive young girlfriend of long ago has become my super impressive wife in her early thirties. Her submission to Geoff seems directly proportional to her flowering maturity in business and her outlook on life. She is such a class act to behold, an outstanding specimen of modern womanhood, and I’m so proud of her. It all reassures me that her crazy affair is simply a diversion from her mainstream life with me rather than a replacement for it. I love her with everything I am, as I know she loves me back the same.
We take a final walk around York on Sunday morning prior to checking out of the hotel, hand in hand as usual. This stroll is no great distance to us, maybe three miles. We’re just doing typical us things that could easily have been any weekend since we first met. Nothing changes in this respect whatever happens in our secret sex life. We always indulge our more wholesome, simple pleasures together, and although they don’t figure a lot in my report here, they’re still a major part of our life.
We’re home by Sunday evening, and I’ll be away north in the morning. We don’t have much business in Scotland, but there is one establishment that’s keen on where our research might lead, and I’m heading up there to spend three days with them looking at their processes and talking about their various projects that might be a fit for our technology. It could be important to us in the future. It’s a long drive, so Monday and Friday are write off days spent on the road.
Sherrie and I are not looking forward to yet another parting but we have had a lovely fulfilling weekend, and now she’s snuggled down with me on the sofa. We watch a film. We drink some wine. We’re in our casual home gear by now. I’m in tee shirt and trackie bottoms. Sher is showing off a lot of gorgeous leg in one of her little playsuits she’s always liked so much and that make her look so young.
We’re completely relaxed and a study in domestic bliss, but then…….. I sometimes look at her dressed so innocently at chill out times like these. Quite my little angel she is, but then my mind wanders and I imagine her with him, under his thumb, this time tomorrow evening as they get down and dirty. Maybe she’s bound and gagged, helplessly tied down as he lays the cane into her behind. Maybe she’s sitting naked on the toilet, blindfolded, and with clamps biting into her erect nipples as he holds her hand, directing her at his will. Maybe lying alone contentedly asleep in his spare bedroom with his catheter tube fitted by his hand intimately invading her, draining her bladder into a bag. Or perhaps her lithe body is being manhandled easily by him as she squeals in the throes of passion during her latest violent orgasm while he plows her cunt deeply with his fat cock that she openly craves. The cock that gouges her genitals wide like she’d never known and makes her beg him for more. It’s a stimulating train of thought as back in our lounge she shifts position with a pretty sigh, resting her head against my chest, her lovely long ginger locks trailing all over me. I crave this absurd yet sublime dichotomy in our lives, and I know that Sher does too. I will carry the same obsessions with me on my travels throughout the week as my mind is exercised with the reality that my wife will be spending each night of my absence in her master’s bed, or maybe banished to his floor, but in any case his house, facing outlandish pleasures and challenges she has come to need and adore.
We take the tired but loving vibe upstairs as I carry my darling up to our bed, her arms clinging around my neck. She’s certainly lighter these days, thanks to Geoff. It’s been a special weekend of making happy memories.
xxxxxx
I’m up early on the Monday at 6am. I like to beat the rush hour traffic at the start of a long drive. As is customary, I take my girl her morning cup of tea before I leave.
J: I know it’s early, sweets, but I thought you’d like your cuppa before I go. I doubt anyone will be bringing you tea in bed the rest of the week!
She’s bleary eyed, but awake. She usually wakes when I get out of bed anyway.
S: Oh, thank you, babe. You’re a star. You’ll stay safe won’t you? I need my wonderful John back in one piece. Where else will I get my tea needs, and my love needs fulfilled?
J: Of course, love. I promise you. But you stay safe too, especially with you know who!
She smiles sympathetically at my pained expression as I sit on the bed beside her for a moment.
S: I will. But I know he would never really harm me. That’s why I always feel safe enough with him to let myself go so much. You don’t need to worry about me.
J: I know. I trust you, but you can understand me fretting a little considering all that has happened, and the really heavy stuff you two are into.
We’re not fooling or teasing now. There’s no bravado from either of us. Our intensely loving vibe from yesterday is extending into genuine concern for each other as I prepare to depart and leave her to the tender mercies of her lover.
S: We are OK, aren’t we? This weekend it being just us and York. It’s all been so lovely. I love us so much.
J: I know. And that’s the real us isn’t it, Sher? All the other stuff, it really is still just a hot, crazy game isn’t it?
S: Of course that’s the real us! Don’t you dare doubt it after all the promises you made to me that the game would never affect us. I’m the one that’s depending on you here! The horrible adulteress scarlet woman who needs her man to put up with her. I know I’m so bad, and I’m sorry. You do get off on it all though don’t you, babe? Like you always did? I do love my secret wicked life, but I’d be horrified if I really was hurting you. I can see how I excite you, but is it getting too much for you to take? Do you feel threatened?
My intended two minute goodbye has turned into an emotional conversation, and I seem to have hit a raw nerve with her. She’s looking unsure, but Christ, she’s so fucking hot! Everything she says, everything she does. It all gets me going. I take a breath and put my stiff upper lip forward. The one that matches my stiff dick even now as she speaks of loving her wild behaviour, every word dripping sexual arousal over me even at this ungodly hour of the morning.
J: It’s not too much for me Sher. Just the odd paranoid crisis now and then, but I do know we’re solid. I just like to hear you repeat it over and over. Come here.
I hold out my arms and we embrace as we move in to kiss tenderly.
S: You are always number one. I need you as much as I ever did. Probably more.
J: I’m good, but I need you too, Sher. Please never let me down. I couldn’t take that.
First she’d reassured me and in turn was desperate to be reassured. Now she seems relieved by my words and my lips. In another pause in our kissing:
S: Of course I’ll never ever let you down. I couldn’t live without you, babe. I know that you enjoy what I do with him, and what I do to you. The denial, the edging, all of it. It’s all there to build the experience for you too. For us both.
J: Yeah. I love the details you give me and the stuff we do together. I couldn’t imagine being so fulfilled with any woman as I am with you. It couldn’t happen.
S: I love that you enjoy it. I need to have that in my head. I couldn’t do it if I didn’t know you were rooting for me instead of being disgusted with me. I think it’s all part of you to have me do this as much as it’s a part of me. We’re so lucky. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.
We’re kissing passionately now, but soon we drag ourselves apart for the final time, and I leave the house with my spirits bolstered by our unexpected daybreak heart to heart and her renewed declaration of our devotion ringing in my ears. Until the next time the demons haunt me, that is. It won’t take long, I fear, because I know that when I return on Friday she will be ready to leave on a long arranged sporting weekend away with him, and this after spending every night in bed with him all week. He can’t have her as a 24/7 submissive, but it strikes me that they are getting a lot closer to it than I ever dreamed possible. It leads to some stimulating, sleepless and angsty nights for me in those Caledonian hotel beds nursing a rock hard cock. I think we really are pushing at the boundaries of the boundaries now. I feel she’s overloading on him, but my doubts are still nothing on the scale of the excitement. I still really do trust her to take care of us in her wildest times.
xxxx
It’s Friday night at last, and I arrive home after the long drive from Scotland about seven. Considering how demonstratively loving we had been last Sunday and before I left early on Monday, Sherrie greets me with few words and a very chaste kiss indeed. She can change the mood at will, and my goodness, she’s done a full 180 degree turn on me here.
She looks immediately and shockingly different. Her wavy red hair, long and flowing down her back when I left on Monday, as it had been from the day I met her, has been cut short and permed into tight curls all over her head. The effect is extreme. She looks good. She would look good in any style though. She is noticeably slighter nowadays from all the sport and working out, and I see it especially when I’ve been away. Less flesh, more muscle. Thinner face – a more elfin quality than ever before - though still as beautiful. She’s wearing a smart knee length dress and a cardigan. No cleavage or thigh show. It’s decently and traditionally feminine; demure, just as her master orders.
J: Jesus. That’s a bit of a transformation.
S: As you get older, long hair doesn’t suit so well. It was time for a change.
J: You look so young though. It suited you just fine. Geoff’s idea I presume.
S: Well, yes. And he reckons it will make me more aerodynamic for running. Every hundredth of a second counts, but I had been thinking about changing it anyway. It was becoming a pain to be honest.
J: You didn’t think to discuss it with me?
S(shit eating grin, and a little laugh): No, of course not. He thinks I should dye it black too. He says it would show my commitment to my submission if I colour my hair to his direction. What do you think?
I don’t know whether she’s lying or truthing. No idea. She’s well capable of leading me a dance just for the wicked fun of it.
J: Fuck no! He just wants to mould you whatever way he chooses for his own amusement. He’d probably want it grey the week after.
The grin grows bolder.
S: I know. He really takes liberties with me, doesn’t he? Look, you know I’m away tonight and I’ll be back Sunday lunchtime. I told you Geoff’s entered me in a fell race tomorrow in West Yorkshire with a quality field taking part. He’s going to prepare my regime overnight tonight and give me a light workout, then we are staying in a hotel together tomorrow night afterwards.
J: How’s he preparing you? By fucking you all night?
S: Maybe, but the right food and drink mainly and muscle toning. He says he will discipline me too to focus my mind, and he’ll punish me on Saturday night if I mess up. He knows you’re back this evening, and he’s told me not to spend time with you, and to leave within 15 minutes of you getting here, so I’ll be off in about 10 now. I think he wants to be evil to you rather than me for a change, but he says it’s so my head is in the right place for the race. It makes sense.
Of course, he thinks she’s cheating so he also thinks she has to make up some cock and bull story to me. (Ha - cock and bull! Very Freudian!) Her shit eating grin, now incorporating the ice cold eyes too, is all over her face. (She informed me later, after her return, that she’d told him I wouldn’t be back from my trip until the next week, so she was totally messing with me in much of this exchange.)
S: Look, I’ll be back in less than 48 hours. Just let me have this without being shitty with me. It’s my first official area fell race and I want to do well.
J: It’s not the fell race that concerns me!
She stands before me with her overnight and running gear bags beside her. The smirk, the eyes, the surly defiance; the whole cultivated infidelity deal that she loves to front up to me with. She’s goading me and she’s getting better at it as time goes by. Just like she knows how to hold a cock on the edge of orgasm indefinitely, she also now knows how to hit me right on the dividing line between excitement, pushing my cuck buttons and real hurt. Fuck, I love the joy and the pain, so help me.
S: I have a special treat for you, John, that you’re not normally allowed to see.
She bends and lifts up her dress, gathering it right up to her armpits. She stands, legs slightly apart and shows me her slim, toned body. No bra, no knickers; everything is on display. Hugely erect, Damien mode nipples – how does he do this to her when he isn’t even here? Black suspender belt and stockings only framing her cunt. She's wearing black high heels to match.
S: This is how he told me to arrive at his tonight. I’ve done this for him. I want you to see what I’m giving him in half an hour from now. Do you miss it, John? Do you miss me giving this to you? I hope so. It would hurt my womanly pride if you don’t. I want you to picture me like this as you lie in bed tonight and tomorrow night thinking about what I’m doing with him and what he might be doing to me. I want you to enjoy the feelings going through your head, and think about what you started when you gave me this freedom. I need you to think of how hot I am for him like when you told me I was hot way back that night for Damien. That night was a foretaste of my submissive potential. The way you saw me under Damien’s spell was a one off. I feel like that all the time for my Master now. I know he will humiliate me. He’s told me to prepare for enemas and anal tonight and I can’t wait.
She turns around, her body still displayed to me, and bends over, head down, legs wider apart now. I see what she wants to show me as she addresses me again, this time through her open legs. I also glimpse for the first time multiple wheals on her buttocks, some dark and angry, some almost faded, presumably from various canings he’s given her this week. Her sex is wide open from this angle too. Maybe her excitement at doing this, or the result of the pummeling it's received multiple times since I last set eyes on it.
S: The butt plug is there to ease his way and so it’s not quite so hard on me as he takes me. I want you to look at me now and appreciate the depth of my humiliation by him, John, and I want you to feel humiliated too. You’re not just my husband. You are my dealer. You pushed this hard drug to your wife who loves you, and now she’s addicted. I hope you’re satisfied.
She’s laying it on thick tonight. I take up the challenge.
J: Go on then, slut. Go the whole hog. Reach your hands behind you and spread those buttocks wide for me like you do for him. Show your husband your total female shame like you show your lover.
S: That will never happen. I don’t shame myself for you. Only for my Master.
With that she stands, turns to face me and lets the dress drop, hiding herself again, then she straightens it and the cardi. Obviously this little scene was nothing to do with Geoff. This was entirely Sherrie casting her own evil spell over me as she’s been doing more and more since promising to “rub my face in it” at my own rash invitation. I feel sure that our mutual reassurances as I left her on Monday are emboldening her to believe she can turn the screw a little tighter on me, and her creativity knows no bounds. Clearly, these scenes light her fire as well as mine. I even wonder sometimes if she’s trying to get me to rebel. Like she’s testing my limits at the same time as testing her own under his growing control of her. It’s exactly the way her complex mind might work. A “will he crack before I crack” kind of dynamic would fascinate her, I feel sure.
J: Look. Be careful!
S: I will be. I told you. Don’t worry. Well, don’t worry about my safety. You can worry about the sex stuff if you like. In fact, you should worry. I like the thought of you worrying about it. Keeps you on your toes. Drop your pants and show me your dick.
I’m on board with the game as always, and I do so without breaking our eye contact. I drop them to my ankles. She looks knowingly at my rampant erection and just raises her eyebrows with an exaggerated air of superiority.
S: I’m so glad I stopped fucking you. You obviously love the denial and it means I can save it all for my Master. Everyone’s happy.
It’s something she continually taunts me with now, ever since Geoff announced that he was taking her deeper down the rabbit hole of her own submission and she cut me off. She savours telling me how much I love this and me being unable to deny it.
She picks up her bag and leaves. Purposefully, she offers no kiss goodbye. My sweet girl. Lovely face. Damien nipples. New hairdo I’m not so keen on. My evil little she-devil.
Over the years that this goes on there are numerous extreme occasions like this when she walks out on me to go to him. So many, that it would be impossible to relate. The particularly hard ones are when she is going away for a night or two with him as in this case, and since (as she frequently reminds me) I asked for this while sporting a big hard cock, she always whips up the angst with me, making an act like she doesn’t care for me at all, only for her submission to her lover and master. She said I’d regret asking for this and, through what she’s doing to me, I’m coming to understand what she means when she says he takes her apart. I’m unsure what I think about it all, flipping and flopping this way and that in my horror, my fascination and my ecstasy. To paraphrase Zhou Enlai, it’s probably still to early to say.
I don’t want to suggest that there aren’t many other partings that are much more loving, amicable and budgie like, even regretful, all depending on her mood. Of course I can’t put my fingers inside her like in the early years of the affair to check her soaking hot wet pussy as she leaves. She knew I loved the theatre of it, but she won’t let me do it now, and I miss it. Her shit eating grin is a very familiar sight to me. She loves doing this, and her ritual departure and depriving me is part of the regular stimulation for her and, in truth, for me too. She has me all worked out, as she boasts, and she moulds her cruelty to fit me and my kinks almost as perfectly as her body fits mine.
That weekend when she returns, we have our usual, but on this occasion delayed, reconnection with each other in bed on the Sunday evening. She has that odd, inscrutable “been with him” aura about her, but as ever, it is heaven even with her bra and knickers stubbornly in place and me forbidden to enter them. She’s a different girl from the demon that left on Friday. My real Sherrie of last weekend and York has returned, but still with that unfamiliar hairdo just to remind me of his input. That’s definitely going to take a lot of getting used to. We become a little reflective again:
S: So. Does all of this still make you happy after so long, babe?
J: Not all of it does. A lot of it does though, but I’m thinking Geoff is a prick and he’s trained you well to be a bitch.
It makes her laugh.
S: Well that’s similar to me then. Not all of it makes me happy but a lot of it does; most of it does. Geoff’s not a prick, but he certainly has a superb prick. I never needed training to be a bitch. You should know that by now, but I’m always your very own personal bitch. I’m always yours, John. I was concerned after you left on Monday that you’d thought you were losing me to him. I hope I swept that nonsense clean out of your mind.
She puts her hand down to feel my prick. Whenever she does that, and she does it a lot, I can’t really lie about my feelings on her sex life. I’m big and hard as ever.
J: On balance, I like it more than I don’t, and yes, our early morning chat before I left convinced me again that all is good. I’m sorry if I ever waver on it.
S: I can see you like a lot of it, and the worse I treat you, the better you seem to like it. I love that about you. It just frees me to be whatever I want to be.
She tells me she came a creditable 12th among the ladies in the fell race against some seasoned opposition. Geoff is suitably encouraged, gives her additional exercise routines, tells her to lose even more flesh, build more muscle, and she can’t wait to get started hoping for a top ten finish next month. It’s something that really motivates her, although I’m not happy with it. I am happy when she starts to describe her nights in his bed enslaved by his fat prick and another profound anal submission session with some harsh discipline the night prior to the race. Yeah, I’m definitely happy with that as she backs onto me and I spoon her in our bed for the first time in a week. She’s not naked. She never is these days with me, of course, but her body feels heavenly to me despite her underwear as she rubs her silky knickered bottom against my hard cock. It’s an unbearable, unmissable, torment for me, and she knows it.
S: Do you still love your own personal bitch then, John?
J: Of course, I love you, sweetheart. You’re the most fantastic woman in the world.
S: That’s all right then. Night night, babe. I promise I’ll drive you wild forever.
Me: You’re probably a better fuck than his wife.
Her: I’m probably a better fuck than most people’s wives.
Our crazy journey:
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