A sleeve of shitty goo had slid down her wrist and over the back of her hand. It looked like she wore a shit glove, her hand was so covered.How many t...mes had she done this to her own poop? She thought about the joy–the feral, unchained euphoria–that she always experienced when handling her own shit. She felt so brave and so special, like she was in possession of the most prized treasure in the whole universe, and no one else was smart enough to know how to get it for themselves. Holding her. There was his wife in the throes of passion with another man, his very large member writhing in and out of her pussy, their bodies embraced, her breath panting, as they made love. He wanted to kill them both; he was so furious with jealousy. Frankly, he intended to at least beat up Steve and scare her with his righteous anger. He did indeed shake with anger as he saw the scene through the window. But he was surprised by one thing: his cock was hard as a rock and he was trembling with sexual. More

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