He could remember the first days in Boston so long ago. Back then, they’d only made out. In those times, though, he had to remove a lot of clothes b...fore he could reach her cunt. And, in those times, her breasts had been available. Now Sylvia’s nipples were sore. Between the unavailability of her breasts and the unencumbered -- if limited -- availability of her cunt, making out with his lawfully wedded wife these days seemed dirtier and less romantic than making out with Sylvia Jennings back. He thought of her impending husbands roving hands caressing her body under the dress that he was wearing. Imagined those hands against her breasts, imagined that it was his body under the new husbands touch, imagined those hands travelling down, slipping under the heavy material of the skirt, coming to rest against his legs, touching and stroking as they travelled up towards his thighs.Troy felt his knees weaken, his breath almost nonexistent, his pulse thumping throughout his body. He had to. More

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