CHEATED

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EPILOG

EPILOG

I look back at the chapter headings of my life and realize I was riding the horse in the direction it was already going. Was I really only nineteen when I saddled up with Johnny, my one ball ex who elated me with three kids, works in progress, no longer children and not yet adults. Although this is not the story of the kids. That is yet to be told.

Russell the Love Muscle who boned me and spooned me, and taught me to laugh. The local boys, Weiner, Woody, Little Bob, Willy Typewriter and Sticky Micky, who sparked my flame and fulfilled my desires while I was stuck in Wildwood raising the kids.

The Master of Ceremonies made love to me here and there and everywhere. The Gold Man helped me blossom as a woman and a lover, then broke my heart into twenty-one little shards. Ah, the misery that inspired me to write about betrayal and deceit.

And the Peter that handled me right back to life and sensuality. My British pocket rocket. We could have danced all night but he had a love across the ocean, and I was not meant to be his wife.

And the chance encounter with a smooth talker and his super shlong who scribbled “lobster” on the back of a napkin and swept me off my feet. Then turned into a pecker and let me fall into the arms of his buddy, a rich and charming Dangler and a year of merriment and glamour to distract and delight.

“Do you trust me,” he asks. My King Pin.

I know the taste of him. My tongue slides across and around his hairy nipples. I bite. A little bite.

“Ouch,” he moans.

Lowering my head, I fondle his penis as it expands in my hand. Slowly my tongue slurps the length of his King Pin. I flatter the foreskin with the hardened tip of my tongue, and circle and lather the head, curling my tongue to stimulate. I almost giggle as I pucker my lips to suck the tip.

This is delicious, better than an ice cream cone as I lap my lips around and around, licking the edges. I draw him in, and tighten warm, moist cheeks around the biggest cock I ever sucked. He rises, and I accept his shaft into the heat of my mouth. The length of him slides deeper as I draw his span into my throat.

Dick’s hands slide down my back, grab my buttocks and hoist me up. We merge. His hungry mouth envelopes mine as his dick, his great big dick, plunges into my yearning tunnel of love. I squeeze. He groans. An all-encompassing sweetness mixes with intensity, feeling the power moving in and up, and down and through. And in and up, and oh my, oh my, oh my, approaching a new high. I arch my back to lift my hips, meeting his thrust with my own.

He flips me over, and suddenly I am skewered from behind. My keister reaches into the air, offering myself. The brush of his abdomen against my open anus torments and excites.

He lunges, I gasp. We are panting, grunting animals, unwilling to let go.

“More,” I cry. He pushes from behind, and in front large hands massage my breasts.

He spins me like a pinwheel in the wind, and suddenly I’m under him. My nails rake his back. We slow, we ease, his mouth on my neck, tickling my ears. I lick his shoulder, nibble his chest. We waltz, a soothing rhythm, rocking hip to hip, thigh to thigh. I rouse. He eases. I reach for his ball sacks and rub. He thickens, tightens, stretches.

“Wait,” he says, and stills inside me. The calm before the storm. I lift.

“Wait,” he says, motionless.

Impossible, denial, my swollen muscles pulse around his meat. My insides twitch with desire. Our bodies slick, skin on skin.

“Lori,” he rasps and plunges, urgent and demanding. Banging, knocking, panting, smacking. In again. Out again.

“Dick,” I cry as he grips my thighs and holds me deep and deeper. Elation rushes through me to ecstasy and our mutual release. The sweet weight of his body on mine and his maleness inside of me sends satisfying waves through every part of me. Greedy to hold him, the muscles of my lady lotus tighten to lock him in, but have an opposite effect, and his great King Pin slides from my pink to rest long and wet against my thigh. Oh loss! I squeeze my thighs to retrieve him, and tense on languid manliness. Well spent my King Pin.

We loll, exhausted by our own desire. His strong hands stroke my arm as I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Are you happy?” He asks.

“Mmmmm,” I purr. “Yes, I’m happy.”

“Good.” He says, “I want you to be happy.”

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