"She got up from her chair and went round the table. She put her arms round my neck and kissed me lovingly. "Allan, I know I'm a skinny, ageing broad,...but you talk so lovingly to me, that you sometimes even convince me, that I'm pretty." She took my hand and pulled it a little and whispered: "All right, Tarzan, let's go to the guest-room, because our bed is a mess."As we undressed in the small guest room I once again thanked the deity which gave me courage on that birthday, all those years ago.. The wife I knew. The one with the beautiful face that I love to plaster with cum and have her walk out in public wearing it. The one with the big, full breasts with the perfect nipples I love to tug and watch her squirm. The one with the cute little asshole I’d sniff freely and lick regularly. The one with the shaved, pretty, tight little pussy that I can force to gape open with my cock, fingers, or even toes. The one with the…well, you get the point. It felt more than good to have her back. It. Deja Vu. Maybe I should go out, what is there to lose? I grabbed my old puma's from the shelf and went downstairs to scrub them up. I didn't really have a pair of shoes to go with.I grabbed back my cell, 1 new message from Joyzz. Alright now what? "Just come along, we're bored".Let me give you a little side-info, about Joyce. I met her at school. She, apperantly, was in my class.July was in that class as well but soon changed school. I knew her pretty well. She was the kinda girlyou wouldn't. The doors opened and he walked out intothe garage, his heels clacking on the concrete. Past the long black car andthrough the side door, and he was out. On the street. Free.He looked back at the building from which he had just escaped: an anonymousblock, one of a thousand in central London alone. Nothing about it suggestedthe decadent luxury within. He started to cry, suddenly, without reason."Can I help you, miss?"He turned and saw a policeman, hand outstretched in concern. At the same timethe.
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Couldn’t control my feelings: she wasn’t mine any more. She was somebody else’s, or even multiple guys’. It was wrong of me to be possessive,
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