“No!” she cried, but her voice was smothered by the pillow and at that moment her husband’s penis entered her. Her body jerked in reaction to ...is filling her in this fashion.“It’s not me fucking you, Andrea,” he hissed as he began doing precisely what he said he wasn’t. “It’s someone else. Someone else is doing you.” His penis went in and out of her and she met his thrusts with her own. “Think of who it is, baby. Who do you want this to be? Who is doing you? Who is he?” Andrea, to her. Since then, I have been trying to write an account of what happened, but every time I do, it just comes out sounding like all the other descriptions of who put what where. Granted, those are fun to read; I've read a few (hundred) of them myself! Perhaps Sally or Ted could write what they felt, having sex and cuddling in bed all day long, but I thought that it might be worthwhile to hear from the other party - the one who sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, the one who waited on them, the one. More

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