"Why do you do it?" he asked, as he stared at the ceiling."You mean go to him, don't you?" You make it sound like a friendly visit when you put it that way. Go to him? Why don't you just say it? You have sex with him - you go to let him fuck you." Do you want me to say that, to tell you in those words?" I want you to tell me why! Why can't you tell me what you need instead of going to another man? What does he do for you that I can't? Just tell me what you want - I'll do it - anything, anything at all!"She sighed, then trailed her fingertips over his belly, finding his spent erection and working it gently between her fingers."Are you sure you want to know? I could say things that would hurt you terribly, and you'd regret asking." I regret asking in the first place. But what am I supposed to do? Sit quietly by while you have sex with this man, and never question why? If you still love me, if you want a future together, what could you say that would hurt me?"Her eyes peered into his,. Her hands slowly drifted forward and under the fabric; she cupped her sex. John was wide awake now, awake and watching. When tension in the room reached the perfect pitch, panties came off and flew through the air. They followed the flight path of her bra and landed on John's face. Mary moved quickly, before John brushed them aside she pressed them tight to his face and began kissing her husband through them. She worked the cotton crotch swath to his lips and french kissed that moist cloth into John's mouth. Her tongue pushed the crotch deep into him and her lips sealed his. John knew he was to suck, suck her juices; suck someone else's juice mixed with hers. Whose juice, whose was it tonight? As soon as Mary's lips released the garment, he had to ask. "Samuel, my Little Black Sambo, but he certainly isn't little. He's just my Sambo.” Mary flopped on her back, in bed next to her husband. She lay on top of the sheets stretched out, allowing her body to feel the cool air in their.
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