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"Oh, I did the job," Joe shot back. "She didn't
ask for you. But you're
part of what this is all about and I'm sure she wants you. I'll be
downstairs in my den; I won't bother you."
Michael nodded, smiling and laid the sheet back and swung his muscular
legs over the edge of the bed. Joe did a double-take. He didn't have
a hardon after all. The lump under the sheet was his cock in its
natural state. He was huge. His cock swung out from his hairy
loins
like a hunk of radiator hose, thick and meaty and long and veiny. He
was cut but there was a generous collar that remained, a sure sign of
great potential. Michael saw Joe looking at him.
"Don't worry, she can handle it okay," he said with a grinning smirk.
Joe nodded and tore his eyes away from the awesome manhood and walked to
the stairs. He heard Michael's soft footsteps going down the hall,
into his bedroom; to his wife. Downstairs, Joe grabbed a bottle of
whiskey from the kitchen and went to his den. He didn't know what he
was feeling; anger, doubt, inferiority, inadequate
......he
didn't know but he couldn't cope with them without the whiskey. His
bedroom was situated directly over his den and he hadn't realized
before how the sound carried. He could hear their muffled voices and
he strained to hear the words. Moments later he heard Linda's moans and
muffled squeals, then the gentle thumping of the bed.
"Godd, he's fucking her," he mumbled to himself. "I'm sitting down
here letting another man fuck my wife!" A tiny part of him wanted to
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