We called it Jim. Our conversations over the bar at the golf club took on a whole new meaning after that, as she'd tell me that Jim had been visiting,...or she'd ask me how Frances was feeling. My mates also noticed my game was deteriorating. Since Sally and I became lovers, my handicap had blown out by three shots. It was difficult to concentrate on my game for the first few holes of a round on Saturdays when Sally worked. The afternoon Sally squirted for me was the most beautiful thing we'd. I sobbed for some contact. Grasping or better yet snatching his hand, I roughly pushed his middle thick finger inside my dripping wetness. It easily slipped inside as my whole body trembled as Michael gasped at my boldness. It had slipped it in . . . without any effort. He suddenly twisted his finger, and dug knuckle deep. I moaned as my wanton hole clenched around his digit. He quickly pushed in two more of. More

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