Damn. His car was relaxed too, an old green ‘Jeep.’ A fifteen minute drive found them pulling up to his large log cabin on the lakeshore. ‘Your...?’ ‘Of course.’ Upon entering, Amelia slowly wandered around, without saying a word. There was a big table, with deep soft chairs. An old Chinese rug lay at the foot of the stairs. A wood box, scared and ruff, sat in the corner. On the mantelpiece sat a little mud god with a painted face. Nothing was correct or in period style. An old hound dog was. When he'd married Helen, he'd promised to be faithful but was thrusting his aching cock between Brandy's lovely shimmering tits really being unfaithful? It wasn't actually fucking her, not in the usual manner, at least.By the time Wes finished his fourth beer his mind was made up. He'd never won anything before in his life and he'd never forgive himself if he didn't take advantage of this good luck. And he didn't want Brandy to feel bad if he didn't turn in his gold stick. She might think that. More

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