Every time I would slow down I would think about how exciting it had been to fuck that unknown black man. I felt sick about it; that the touch of some...black man's hand had effected me so that I let him led me into a bathroom for a quick fuck. I was a married women and I felt sick with remorse. I found that I couldn't sleep at night, and every time Don tried to touch me I felt almost repulsed. I felt dirty, I felt like a slut for what I had allowed to happen. Then why did I keep thinking about. Hands at your waist lift you further, bending you so that your body becomes prey to my hungry tongue. It slips out of your lips, upward toward your anus, slipping lightly over the wrinkled skin, lingering there, gently probing, and then moving higher. My body crouches over you. I remember so clearly the vision of your beautiful face, your cheeks flushed a heated red, your hair long and beautiful and shining softly in the darkness. The hands on your waist turn you so that you are on your side.. More

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