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When I turned toward the bathroom, I noticed the video camera on a tripod aimed at the bed. It wasn’t the first time we recorded our escapades but the camera setup was much more elaborate than usual. In the past, our recordings were jumpy amateurish videos that sometimes caught the action, but mostly not, using a cell phone camera.Curiosity got the best of me and I pressed play.I was surprised to see myself enveloped by chiseled studs alternately thrusting their stout pricks into my pussy and asshole, pistoning into me like an old-time steam locomotive. I straddled the man pumping my pussy while another reamed my asshole doggy-style, their cocks jousting inside me, all the while I was sucking feverishly on a third man’s swollen peg. My face was clearly visible on the HD video. I was enjoying myself. But I couldn’t remember anything now. It was surreal to watch myself in the center of the action but be unable to recall it. The shower turned off. My hubby would hopefully fill in the. His balls and anus tingled as his eyes tried to concentrate on the generous belly and cunt of his Mistress as he took the cock deep into his mouth and sucked at its rude contours. The usurper gasped through the hood as he too tried to think hard of his Mistress, though the pleasure of the hot mouth about his cock was undeniable, and his balls tingled with a perverse pleasure at being key to the other male's humiliation; a humiliation which he guessed he would one day endure, and the power of the woman he worshipped had him envious of the kneeling male as his carnal pleasure increased with the sucking.Hortense looked down at the union of the two males who were under her control, and rubbed her cunt through the sheer silk as the usurper's legs trembled and his gasps and feeble groans increased, while the cur sucked obediently and urgently on his cock.'He's going to come, and you'll know the seed that will be spent at my pleasure the way yours once was. You'll come perhaps three times.
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He would have told anyone who asked that he would never set foot in this town again. Of course no one ever asked, the identity he had carefully created was so complete he almost believed it himself. Damon Ringer, he was known as. He had no home, he lived nowhere except where he was at the moment. He had no credit cards, no checking account, no utility bills, nothing. He did not even own a vehicle. He had no Social Security number, and he had never filed a tax return. The few documents he did carry all checked out perfectly, the address was a private postal mail box. Once each month or so he checked his mail box, never spending a single night in that city. Damon Ringer was a ghost. +++ The moment he walked into that room, he somehow became Dan again. It only took an instant. Dan stood there not entirely sure of what to do or who to approach, one glance up the big banner hung over the main entrance told the story of why so many older people were in the room. ‘Seaport Class of 1960.’ It.

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