.my voice sounded abit higher pitched, "ohh...ohh." as my hand furiously pumped, I kept myeyes closed, picturing myself with a girl I liked from class...riding me.Her face in ecstasy as I thrust myself into her, my hand pumping up myshaft as it started to shrink, further the pleasure emanating from mycock began to increase, as my eyes opened. Looking down as I watched asthe tip of my purple head was engulfed by my hand, no longer was Iworking my shaft but more massaging my whole cock, waves of. Not that I ever wanted to, but just to show you the kind of man he is. I always had to ask him when I wanted something. I must admit that he almost always said yes, but it just goes to show you how un-emancipated he is.He didn't want me to work in the house. Not that I either wanted or needed to; we had a cook and a cleaner. But just to show you again how he always decided for me.I was a trophy wife. I was the blonde bimbo on his arm who smiled radiantly in her new Dolce&Gabana dress and knew. More

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