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Trackback:
BLACKTEENSEEKER heard dimly through my half-asleep consciousness. It was Jack, and I reached over to stroke his penis. My hand closed instead on the dildo given me the night before by the adult bookstore owner. Blackmailing me with pictures of Jack and me making love, my husband, Frank, had forced me to engage in some frightfully obscene, exhibitionist acts at that establishment's "gloryhole." Then he'd brought me home and left for a few days, "to get his head straight," he'd said. Awake now, though still groggy from my continuing diet of painkilling drugs, I realized that my lover was climbing the stairs. I quickly stashed the dildo, encrusted with my dried juices, under my pillow. "Hey, sweetness! I let myself in," Jack said. "Gotta' get the crew started at seven." "The crew" were Hispanic workers led by a Russian foreman, Sergei, who were doing our house remodel, which had been designed by Jack and was now being managed by him. I looked at the bedside clock. It was 6:30 a.m.
Melon Hunter - Home