You owe yourself the time to masturbate. Not a quick one off the wrist in the shower, like a naïve adolescent. You’ve learnt to control and pace yourself. It’s part of your essence: what makes you what you are. Powerful. Successful. You towel yourself. Of course, the towels are obscenely luxurious. You brush your teeth. And then you stand back and take a long look at yourself in the mirror with approval. Your hands need a little moisturiser. From the bottle thoughtfully provided by the hotel. As you rub it into your hands, you realise that the smell evokes the owner of the intriguing neck. You smile, and take the bottle with you to array on the bedside table, alongside the other items you’ve chosen to assist you in the next hour of sensuous solo abandon. Letting the towel fall, you climb, naked, onto the bed, and focus on the scene playing out on the screen. Oh, we’re in Stockholm. Or Amsterdam. It has a significant bearing on what you are watching, as the screen fills with an image. The oblong section of the shaft gradually turned into a round section and then was fitted with a large cock-head at the end. The metal figure of Christ was exquisitely formed and at Davids pointing it out to us, we saw that the figure had in fact, not the usual loin cloth but a hard, erect penis. David also told us to take note of the sign that was traditionally attached to the top of the cross, we looked closely and saw that it was engraved with the words, FOR SATANS SLUT. I was so incredibly horny at all of this, Margie and I had talked about these sorts of things, but now here it was for real. OK, lets strip your wife off, David suggested. Yes, I eagerly agreed as I turned to Margie and began undressing her. She offered no resistance and in fact helped me in her undressing. Youre going to feel so incredibly crude and dirty, and bad and sinful sweetheart, David said to my wife as he watched me stripping her naked, then as I slid down her panties, which were the last item of.
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