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She said, "OH TERREL I HAVE NEVER HAD A MAN EAT ME OUT BEFORE, IT FEELS GREAT". I responded with "Sit tight babe we are just getting started". I started gently sucking and moving my tongue around in circles on her clit. It had only taken her a couple of minutes for her to get close. She screamed "I THINK I'M GOING TO CUM DON'T STOP" I started sucking that little bud harder and harder until she started to buck her hips and ram her pussy in my face and then she released herself. Her juices were a tad sweet and it was great. But I wasn't finished there, I began sucking on her clit again and stuck my finger in her already wet pussy. I began rubbing her g-spot vigorously as juices were still leaking out. She said "What are you doing I've never felt this before". I told her "don't worry just enjoy it". I began to swirl my tongue around her clit and I then put two fingers in her wet pussy, this was the wettest pussy I had ever felt they slid right in. I massaged her g-spot more and I could. I couldn't figure out what nationality she was but her exotic look made me rise in my slacks. She shot me a glance but nothing major. I was hoping for a little bit more however I am married and felt guilty. As I lay my head back and closed my eyes, her image presents itself over and over in my mind. Air passes over me sending a cool tingle all over. I am not alone. For there are many around who can witness my frustration. Even though the air tingles, her image burns me with desire and temptation. It takes control of me without even knowing a name. She conquers my mental weakness and turns my body into a sexual robot. My hands touch my face, neck, chest, and crotch. My legs are antsy moving side to side out of anxiety. My dick is warm, blood filled, and ready for take off. I'm going crazy. I don't know what to do. I'm trapped in this prison and my head is in the clouds. I need to make a move. I open my eyes to locate her. I want her to feel what I feel. Actually I want to make her.
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I’ll want to meet her. I’ll want to see you happy.”“I’m counting on it,” I smiled.“You should. I’ll give you my honest opinion,” she promised. “So ... did you hear any more about Stan?” she asked delicately.“He died about a month ago,” I told her, “just before Thanksgiving.”“What?!!?” she gasped. “You told me you’d call me!”“There was no funeral,” I said simply. “I went to see him in the hospice. He ... sent word that he wanted to see me. He told me that he knew that any grave site would be used as a toilet by people with longer grudges than mine.”“You went to see him?!!? Why?”“I didn’t see the harm. I was complying with the last wish of a dying man. No matter what he’d done to me before, he asked me for the chance to repent in person. We talked for a while. He told me that he’d been compelled to seek out thrills for most of his life. He apologized and told me that he understood if I couldn’t forgive him, but that he wanted to say the words to me. Honestly, I haven’t talked about it.

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