I rub my hand against my cock thinking about your body and about the pajamas you were wearing before you went to bed. The tight t-shirt and the thin, ...oose cotton shorts. About how you were lying on the couch next to me, your feet resting in my lap. Doing my best to keep my eyes off of your legs and trying not to think about how your breasts looked in that t-shirt. I had to constantly shift in my seat to hide my erection under the blanket. Every time you'd move, your foot would brush up against. Early in her marriage, she’d put her foot down regarding control of a blowjob when her husband had choked her a bit with his cock, more or less accidentally. That restriction had remained in place until that desperate few weeks when she was trying to hold Roger’s interest and avoid divorce. During that period, she discovered something she considered to be a quirk in her makeup; the more demanding Roger got during sex, the more satisfaction it brought her to fulfill his requirements. He had. More

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