Hands running through her mane, still nonplussed, she took me upright at a slow canter. Impaled between her taut flanks, the enveloping heat forced m... involuntary groans. Painting by numbers is not art; sex by numbers is not fucking. The most important ten minutes of the week began – my conjugal rights. Propelled by slow hips, braced against my chest, she gave me a weak smile; enough to dimple her cheekbones and open those full lips. Our younger selves would tantalise and provoke, it was all. " So what's the problem, Ann? Don't you like Sally?" Yes, I like Sally." Don't you like Tom?" Tom is fine." So I'm OK, you're OK, they're OK. What's going on here? What aren't you telling me?" Nothing." It can't be nothing, it's got to be something. Come on, tell me." I don't want to talk about it."Then, on Thursday, Sally called while Ann was in the shower, and said she and Tom would like to come over Saturday night if that was OK. No surprise there, they only live two miles away, and we get. More

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