"You can't be serious." She stared at me, brown eyes wide. Then she burst out laughing, her breasts shaking. "My god. You're sick. I can't believe you... my sister's son." "Aren't you going to tell me to get the hell out of your house?" She breathed heavily, cheeks flushed. "Yes." "Sounds like you really mean it. And if I don't?" She finished her glass of wine in one big gulp, then topped it off. "I can't believe you're blackmailing me. We're related by blood. Why do you even want to?" I stood. She piled up the bedcovers and got comfortable on her back, bent her knees and let her legs fall open. She began idly touching, wondering if she should let hubby "catch" her or if she should send him a pic and beg him to hurry home. She held her toy against her mound and turned it on low. Then she turned it up. Her fantasy was not hubby. She imagined a tall, muscular black man entering the house, following the trail of clothes, until her finds her, already wet and yearning.She didn't hear the. More

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