I could tell from the custom alert that it was George, my husband. "Shit, that's my husband," I gasped, reaching out for my phone. "Tell him, your b...sy and you'll call him back when I'm done fucking your pussy," Derrick joked, steadily fucking me as I read the text from my husband. "Yea, that would go over well," replied sarcastically, before reading the message. "Shit, he's on the way home!" I said in a panic. "Damn, I was just starting to enjoy this tight little pussy," Derrick said, as he. I, of course, know when my power cell is near expiration, and that if I don't get a replacement installed before that happens that I will cease to function without outside expense and assistance.How humans know this for themselves, however, is beyond my understanding. Most will claim they haven't got a clue as to when they'll die, yet I find that denial more so than actual truth. There are many things humans prefer not to dwell on when they can't change them otherwise.My only theory to explain. More

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