(I always remember you at our house at brunch the day we met, having arrived still damp from your yoga class.) You stand up and adjust the silk to hid... the black lace fringe of your bra. “_______ likes me in this dress.” My name.“I can see why,” I tell you.“You don’t think it’s a little tarty?” You rotate your hips and make the hem flare.“A little, maybe,” I say.“You think my husband likes me looking a little tarty?”“Could be,” I say.“You think my husband thinks about other men looking at me. I was way too busy after that to worry about other problems. Clare didn't want it long and slow tonight, and we were soon pounding into each other at a rapid rate. I definitely made her scream that time. Later, the second time was much slower but just as passionate. Clare squeaked and moaned but didn't scream. She enjoyed it just as much though, and so did I. We eventually fell asleep contented for the night.When I awoke in the morning, I still didn't have an answer to my problem, but had. We touched when we shouldn’t, and we held on when we should have let go.“Are you hurt?” he repeated.Fuck it.I reached out and took a hold of his coat with my free hand and yanked him down, ignoring the pain in my elbow, ignoring everything because I was a fucked up teenager and I was looking for answers. I shouldn’t have had the strength to move him so easily, but for some reason he obliged; for some reason he let me pull him down, let me jerk my fingers out of his grasp to clutch the lapels of. “Yes he’s better than you and yes, his cock is much bigger! Are you happy now?”“That’s better!” my husband was positively beaming now as he growled. “Does he make you cum?”The voice was even harder.”Yes he makes me cum!” I replied coarsely, dimly beginning to understand Oscar’s game.“Hard?” he was almost snarling.“Hard!” I hissed back.“Every time he fucks you, Irene?”I took a deep breath.“Yes Oscar. I cum hard as Hell every time Ramon fucks me!” I half screamed.Oscar sat back and stared at me.
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