“What would you do if your wife walked in on us now…?” Jayne asks, reading my mind, “would you carry on fucking me, John?”“Yes. Yes, Jayne...” “Correct answer!” she laughs and the thought seems to encourage her. Leaning forward a little more, she places her hands on my chest to give her more leverage and steps up the pace, so I feel the full weight of her athletic frame bouncing down enthusiastically on my torso and aching cock.The bed is groaning now and the headboard slamming into the wall. He checked it as well as he could every so often, and added a little of the medical goop they’d given him just in case. It wasn’t bleeding, the stitches still held, but it hurt like hell. The slash on his thigh rubbed against his belt painfully, though they’d covered those stitches. It did bleed, just not profusely. Even his chest clenched with every breath.He had no idea how long he walked. Without some form of time keeping, natural or artificial even the most disciplined mind can lose track.. More

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