The creamy, frothy mixture bubbles angrily, a grotesquely contorted visage filled with turmoil and rage, staring at up her. * * * It is dark outside. The boy is sleeping. Michael is sprawled in his favourite green armchair in the lounge, the lamp beside him turned down low. His long fingers, slender, elegant, lightly hold a book, occasionally turning the pages with effortless grace. Artist’s fingers, she thinks. He is an artist. But he doesn’t paint anymore. The dim light bathes the pages of the book in yellow light. His face is shadowed, hidden in the darkness. A bottle of red wine sits beside him, opened, half empty. She watches him read. On my wedding day, she thinks, on my wedding day, I was happy. She turns abruptly and walks outside onto the veranda. Moonlight washes the old wooden flooring in pale white light. The gnarled fingers of the old sycamore tree snatch at the shadows, swayed by the wind. She fumbles in her pocket for the crumpled pack of cigarettes. The scratch of the. I climaxed again. In the warm shower with the water flowing down, I lowered myself so my boobs could rub his cock down. It was big I couldn’t even get my big boobs around it. I softly squeezed them against it and saw their soft flesh squish against it. I looked up and he was enjoying their tender touches with is cock. I knelt and started to such his cock. I was as gently as he was to me. Again, I admired its size. The beautiful, powerful single vein that protruded was there again and it felt even smooth and softer, now it was in warm water. He came quickly and I tried to swallow as much as I could. His cum was so warm and nice. Everything about that massive cock and even the cum it produced was perfect. Like Debbie had said at my 50th, I needed to make a copy of it. So, I could enjoy it whenever I wanted.We dried ourselves down and I put some leggings on and a sweatshirt. Carefully putting my Wonder Woman costume away. I had to be careful how I smuggled that into my house. Big D was.
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