”I looked at my friend. His face was flushed and it wasn’t just the hot water.“Well…” I didn’t know what to say. I felt awkward, at a loss...for words.“We’re going to have sex afterwards … right?” My wife said, looking from me to my friend, then back at me again. “I mean … we always have sex after soaking in the hot tub.”I coughed. I was stunned. Blown-away. I stared at her in amazement. We didn’t ALWAYS have sex after soaking in the hot tub. Often we did, but not always. And we rarely had sex. I did not care anymore for my cock or my pleasure. Even him torturing my dick, pressing it onto the wooden floor while, it being pinched by straw left and right; bringing him the ecstatic feeling of orgasm with my mouth just felt right. I did a good job, I made him cum, I pleased and served him, served a man who was better, manlier, assertive, and superior, more deserving of receiving this pleasure, and ultimately I had served the white race.I kept on sucking, slowing down my motion, letting. More

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