‘You’re so pretty,’ he tells me in a murmur as he binds me. ‘So round and soft.’ He pulls the knots tight, then moves his hands over my nake... body, dry palms over dry skin, the brushing sound loud to my ears. He touches my ribcage, my stomach, my thighs–but not between my thighs, never there, where I ache for him the most. In the three weeks since we met, we have not yet made love. I arch up to him a little, smiling, eyes closed, hoping he will change his mind. He doesn’t. ‘Breakfast time,’ he. He was about six feet tall, and a stocky 220 lbs, with a mop of wavy dark brown hair, cut tight on the sides and looking very handsome in his black Henley and 505 jeans as he followed my wife through the crowd grinning. When they got to the table, I could see Lori’s zipper was down at least as far as her little show at the house, and her hem was riding pretty high too! I watched them pick up their drinks and take a big gulp as a pang of jealousy shot through me, now that I knew they had been. More

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