Belinda moaned as she held her ass cheeks apart slightly bent over in her bedroom. I was on my knees with my face buried between her firm smooth ass c...eeks. I too moaned, but her deep ass crack muffled the noise. Belinda had one of her tits hanging out of her sports bra as she held up her soccer jersey with one hand. Her other hand fondled and pinched her nipple as she felt my tongue alternate between her puckered dirty asshole and her sweaty musky pussy. I was 16 and already developed a few. Well, here’s the beginning of that story, drenched in the grief of a man who has lost his wife, who wakes up every morning wondering how to go on and then, one day, wakes up on a private island in the South Pacific. He’s comfortable enough. There is a beautiful beach house fitted out with every known amenity (and some that are still unknown). But the grief stays with him. And then, on the first anniversary of her death, things begin to change. ———————– December 23 It rained. It’s never. More

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