I imagined the Matador, a brilliant red cape behind him as he taunted the raging bull to attack. The haunting music of Ravel's Bolero, the relentless ...eat, a low moan of the drum that finally explodes releasing the pent-up tension with a burst of fireworks. Was this the score my Matador would play?There was a small amber lamp barely illuminating his bedroom. The glowing light from the shades of browns and golds in the glass pirouetted across the walls like glances of voyeur's shamelessly. I could see my back because of two mirrors on each side of the house. It was so erotic seeing my white body pressed up against this muscular black man with a ten inches cock just too close to my wet cunt.I thought about all the other wives that had played this game. There were probably blondes, redheads and brunettes. All were of different ages and body types.I asked Tom why he had said that most women could do this…He laughed and told me that one wife waited just thirty seconds and then she. More

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