“That was pretty shocking, don’t you think?” Lionel knelt before his portion of porterhouse and tore a fibrous strand free. He turned it over in the steak’s juices on his wife’s plate a couple times before gnawing on it like sucking down a length of rope. Margaret made a vague noise. He looked up at her, cupping her chin in her hand, resting on one elbow, the picture of profound boredom. He watched an idle nasal hair flap in the breeze of her exhalation three or four times, then finished what he was chewing. “I said, that was a pretty shocking session, wasn’t it? Margaret?”

The huge head of shaggy hair framing a wise, tired expression slowly turned down toward him. “Huh? If you say so.”

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

The chemise beneath her black blazer swelled with a deep sigh. “No, lover, you’re not boring me. I’m just lost in my own thoughts right now.”

“Well, why don’t you share them with me?”

At that, her huge eyes seemed to focus upon him. “Oh, no, I don’t think you’d find them interesting. I’m just flitting around, from here to there.” She dislodged her jaw to allow her long, slender fingers to waggle through the air like the flight of moths.

Lionel climbed down from the edge of the plate and wiped his hands on the corner of her folded linen napkin. He’d dressed up for the session with a nice white shirt and meticulously recreated suspenders, and no one had bothered to notice. It was a break from his usual style, which his wife (in not so many words) had intimated was a bit bookish and stodgy, but his chance-taking had been glossed over with the drama of the athletic couple’s revelation-cum-disgorgement. He wasn’t about to be blown off by his own wife, in his own home. “Margaret, I need you to look at me.”

“I am looking at you, darling.”

“You are not!” Perhaps she could have gotten away with faking eye contact with a size-peer, but to one of Lionel’s proportions, every last twitch of her iris was overt. “What is going on? I need you, as my life-partner, to be honest with me and tell me what the hell is going on!”

The giant woman only stared at him dully. She smirked, gave a little snort.

“I don’t understand this! Have I done something wrong? Are you so scared of me that you can’t use your words and explain this to me?” Tempted as he was to lash out and stomp around, experience had shown him that she found this adorable, and he couldn’t bear being laughed at now, in the midst of his rage. He only stood at the fore of his giant wife’s napkin, balling his little fists and standing straight as a fireplace poker, trying to summon all his power to compel her attention.

Teeth glowed dimly behind her thin lips in dusty rose. “You seem kind of agitated. Does someone need an early bed?”

“Margaret.” Lionel’s tone dropped. He opened his mouth once more, took in his wife’s expression, then shut up. Without so much as a slump of his shoulders, he turned away and went back to the steak. He ignored her when she asked if he had something else he wanted to say, and so she shrugged and poured herself another glass of wine, and he tore into the asparagus until he was full.

He cleaned himself on her napkin, wordlessly, and she took the dishes to the kitchen sink to deal with tomorrow morning. She had the civility to carry him upstairs, but he declined further help with going to the bathroom, choosing to relieve himself in a wet-nap before undressing and retiring to his own bed. It was a whimsy purchase Margaret had surprised him with, a Regency four-poster bed, fit for an emperor. Lionel rarely had cause to use it, preferring to curl up in some section of his wife’s bodyscape, but tonight he chose it without discussion, and she showed no interest in talking him out of it.

He lay in it, like a discomfited little king, dwelling upon what story he’d tell at the next session.

* * *

The drive home was especially hard for Rodney and Laura. He could only look up at her, worriedly, from his travel case as she took hard turns, jackrabbit starts, and screeching halts.

“Please, calm down, baby.” His voice rang ineffectually within the acrylic walls as the engine revved and horns resounded from all sides. “Just hold it together until we get home, then you can freak out. Just get us home safely, baby. Don’t wreck the car, we can’t afford it.”

“Okay, okay,” she muttered, white-knuckling the wheel and changing nothing in her behavior. Twenty harrowing minutes later, they were parked and inside and curled up on their bed, still clothed. Wishing he could make her a sandwich or fix her a drink, Rodney had to settle on caressing pale, bony fingers as long as he was.

“Just breathe, baby. That’s it, just breathe.” He hugged her ring finger to his chest, rubbing his cheek against the nail. She never polished her nails and only rarely splurged on a manicure. Laura was as natural as the produce she ingested, unadorned and raw. Rodney ran his tiny fingers over her cuticles, now chewed and jagged. “That was a hard one, wasn’t it? It was rough. It’s not like when I just talked shit and embarrassed myself.”

Laura only lay in the fetal position and stared at the afternoon light peering through the Venetian blinds. She didn’t show any sign of acknowledging the little man behind her hand.

He watched her expression, her slack mouth, her thin nostrils. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll just talk. Is that okay?” She said nothing. He nodded to himself and kissed her fingernail. “I tell you, I’m starting to wonder if this was a good idea, this Dr. Moon.” He laughed quietly. “Not a doctor. My bad. But man, I may not know how therapy’s supposed to go, but this is fucking rough. Me, spilling my guts and sharing my private secrets, in front of a bunch of people I don’t even know. What was that supposed to prove?”

He fell silent for a moment, stepping between her fingers to sit in her palm, lacing his legs through her knuckles. He pulled down her ring finger to rest in the crook of his neck, unwilling to let go of her for a second. “And now you, this fucking storytelling exercise. Goddamn it, anyway! How does she get us to just open up and say that shit? And you know what else,” he said, raising his voice, “those sessions are far too short. That’s some bullshit, just having you and me spill our guts, and then those other chuckleheads get to go home and judge us. No, that ain’t how it should go. Everyone should get, like, ten minutes to embarrass themselves and then we’re all on equal footing. Right?”

Laura said nothing, and he wasn’t really talking to her anyway.

“I’m not saying she’s a witch or anything. It’s just really weird, how she gets us to open up like that and talk about everything we got locked up inside us. And by ‘us,’ I guess I just mean you and me. What the hell has everyone else talked about? Brent went on about, you know, how mean Miriam’s to him, I guess. Heh, she got all worked up about that, did you notice?” He grinned, kissing her cuticle and stroking her last knuckle. “Oh, she didn’t like that at all, the things he was saying. That cracked me up, watching her get all upset. I thought she was gonna rise up and, I dunno, sit on Barbara? That’d put her in her place. Holy crap, that’d probably kill her. I bet that’s what saves Brent most of the time, that he’s so small, she can’t focus all of her weight onto him. It spills over, it goes everywhere else. But if she sat on Barbara, like, it’s more concentrated, she’s catching all of it.”

He thought about that, pictured Barbara getting pinned between Miriam’s tremendous buttocks. He envisioned that sultry, exotic woman with the unrealistically perfect body getting wedged deep into Miriam’s crack, with the starchy skirt she wore today bunching up and disappearing into her crevice along with the therapist. Barbara was nothing more than an awkward array of limbs and long, black hair poking out of two wobbly spheres of feminine flesh and fabric. He could even see that gigantic woman toddling out of the room, carrying the therapist in her butt, muffled screams burping out of her buttocks.

It surprised him, how arousing that image was. He pulled his leg out and laced it back in to trap two of Laura’s fingers between his knees, and he pulled her third and fourth fingertips down to gently pinch the sides of his head, nestling his cannonball butt upon the callused pads at the base of her knuckles, crowning her palm. Someday he felt he should look up all the names for all the parts of his wife’s hand, since it was as common and important to him as a couch was to her.

“How you doing, baby,” he said quietly, wrapping his little arms around her fingers. It wasn’t a real question, and she didn’t say anything, but his eyes lit up when he felt the pad of her thumb brush over his shoulders.

* * *

Miriam giggled on and off throughout the bus ride home. She sat up in the front of the bus, sunlight passing over her back and shoulders, rocking with the large vehicle’s motions and giggling to herself, unmindful of the other passengers. For their part they weren’t very curious about her, either, staring out their windows or scrutinizing their phones.

Brent lay in Miriam’s cleavage, resting nearly horizontally upon her massive breasts, dipping only slightly into the cleft. Her décolletage exposed him completely, as well as the hillsides of her bosom, but he wasn’t bothered in the least. On this ride, unlike most others, he was enjoying himself. His wife’s immense boobs trembled with every contour of the road and bounced with each laugh she let out. He rode alone, content, even excited, rocked in the broad, grotesquely erotic landscape.

“That guy just can’t get a break,” he called up to her over the vehicle’s growl. “Barbara snaps his fingers, and he humiliates himself with his private fantasies. She snaps them again, and they’re both just bleeding in the center of the room! How does she do it?”

Sunlight glinted upon all the teeth in Miriam’s broad smile. “I dunno, she’s got some kinda influence over us. Like last week, when she was rubbing you all over her, I wanted more than anything to grab you back. But she just looked at me—you know, really looked right at me—and I couldn’t move!”

“But you said you liked it.”

“Yeah, I kinda liked seeing that kind of power. But after today, I think I got it easy!” She laughed again, and Brent watched her esophagus working beneath a thick layer of flesh. “And did you see the look on Lionel’s face when she announced he’d be next? I thought he was gonna shit himself!”

Brent laughed and slapped his little arms upon the hillsides of her boobs. “He just stiffened up! I think he thought he was going to have to talk right then. Even worse, right after that train wreck of Laura and Rodney! Goddess, was she okay? She looked like she’d gone into a catatonic state.”

Miriam’s eyes were huge and round, and her thick lips formed a huge O. “That was freaky! I thought Barbara really broke her! If I didn’t see her get up and walk out with her little workout buddy, I would’a thought she was about to die or something.” She scooted back in her seat, straightening her spine, and gave her bosom a little heave to watch her tiny man bounce along. “But Lionel’s gonna catch an earful from Margaret when he gets home.”

“You think?”

“Sure. Barbara says ‘you next,’ and he looks like he’s gonna get stepped on or something? That tells a story all by itself. Margaret seems like the type who really cares about appearances, so he probably embarrassed the fuck outta her.”

Brent tilted his head and looked up at her button chin, between gently trembling cheeks. “That’s a really good point. You’re pretty insightful when you want to be, Miriam.”

She bit her tongue at him, grinning. “I see more than I let on, little man! I’m not some big, stupid ogre, like people think.” She cupped her breasts through her dress and rocked them alternately, to the slow beat of a song only in her head. Her husband’s tiny body rocked helplessly back and forth, nudged roughly from side to side by each bulging tit in turn, but he was smiling. He was laughing, he loved it. It was so unusual to see him into it with her, she was almost afraid of breaking the spell and losing the moment, but for the time being he was right there with her.

She kept him carefully balanced upon her breasts when they arrived at their stop and got off. He grinned at her as her massive face looked overhead to navigate. The wind dragged a few thin locks of hair over her expression, and he had the urge to climb them, to scale her cheeks and just park himself over one eye. In the late afternoon sun, her skin was glowing and the golden, woody tones of her iris were brought out of their normally dark brown hue. More than that, there was something about this afternoon, the conspiracy of their shared schadenfreude, that made him feel strangely close to her. He also felt that tenuous connection that could be disrupted and snapped by any random event, but for the time being… he was really into her, and he wanted to enjoy that.

By unspoken agreement they hustled upstairs to their bedroom (not that he could’ve resisted, but he certainly didn’t complain). Miriam placed Brent upon the edge of her dresser. “Get my zipper, darling?” Laughing, he gripped the plastic stem with both hands and leaped into space. Rather than yanking the mechanism straight down, however, he only banged against her back, setting them both off in giggles once more. With some innovation he figured a way to rappel down her spine, planting his little feet in the black velvet, and successfully dragged her zipper down to its base.

“Aren’t you a little helper,” she said, reaching back to tug him by his leg and scoop him up for a quick shower of kisses. He laughed and squirmed, getting pelted with thick, puckering lips from all angles, until she tossed him to the bed. His little body, a few ounces in weight, hardly made even a poof as it struck the decorative quilt upon the bed. Clean linen and a delicate perfume filled his nose as he watched the mountainous woman struggle to tug her dress up over her head.

It was fascinating at first, watching the muscles work beneath the thick padding of her upper arms, seeing each stage of progress as her skirt flooded up over her hips and strained to pop over her breasts. After a minute or two of the fight, her thick hands quickly wadded the dress up over her head. Miriam tossed it into the corner, onto a pile of dirty clothes and crusty tissues, then planted her fists upon her hips. “Look at you! Are you just going to ogle me or are you going to get undressed?”

Dark shadows fell over his body as her colossal chest swiveled overhead. Not for the first time he admired the impressive engineering that went into her lace-and-canvas brassiere that only barely contained her massive mammaries. They jutted from her chest, heavy and proud, and he witnessed their full undersides beyond even her vast belly. It was an awesome spectacle, and Brent was momentarily stunned motionless.

Either one of those huge tits could come down and plow into him. Either one could bury him helplessly, without a trace. Either one contained relative tonnage that might not snap his ribs or shatter his skull, but all that tit-meat could easily constrict his circulation and definitely squeeze the wind from his lungs. Crawling out from beneath one, only one, would have been an impossible task. And now two of them were protruding not all that far above him.

Slowly he realized how hard his cock was. It burned pleasantly in his trousers, growing stiff at an awkward angle, pushing the miniature-scaled fabrics from his thigh. Biting his lip with a randy sneer, he practically ripped his tiny sweater vest over his head, fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt before attacking his own pants with mounting ardor. When he looked up again, lying in nothing more than tiny boxers and tinier socks, he discovered Miriam had successfully undone the hooks to her bra and was now scooping her immense tits out of each cup.

She moaned deeply, closing her eyes in satisfaction, drinking in the moment they hauled out of her sweaty, dense bra to be kissed by fresh air. Her bra hung, flaccid and discarded, off of one shoulder as her powerful forearms and hands kneaded deep into copious, floppy spheres of flesh. “Oh, my Goddess,” Brent murmured, clutching his cock through his underwear, watching huge, dusky nipples swell and grow perky between dancing, clutching fingers.

From above the bobbling mountainside, Miriam’s crooked grin arose like a sunrise. “Oh, you like this, little man?” she enunciated with a surprisingly coquettish tone. “Is this something you want, this one?” She released one breast and let it fall, slapping against her belly, as both hands had an easier time supporting its sister. Splayed fingers were nearly lost in the folds of spilling, milky flesh, and her rosy/tan nipple stuck out like a small tower upon the hillside. “I dunno, I think it’s kind of much for you.”

“No, please,” Brent grunted, “I can handle it.”

Miriam threw back her head and laughed, setting her corpulent body rumbling. “Is that so! You think you can handle all this tit?” Bending slowly at the waist, she held her breast above the tiny, little man. She watched the darkness spread around him, curious about how he wasn’t scrambling for safety or shrieking his demands or begging at her. He appeared to be stroking his crotch with one hand, while his other limbs were spread out as though he anticipated a full-bodied hug. Miriam nearly lost her breath at the sight, a tiny, little man whose every last millimeter ached for her touch. She almost didn’t know how to interpret it.

Her other breast fell around, sliding over her belly and swinging dangerously near Brent. He saw it coming, like a moon wheeling around a planet, coming straight at him. He welcomed it, staring in awe as the abundant flesh grew in speed and swooped toward his position. It only swiped the air above him, with her nipple tracing a clean arc through the air until it pointed directly at him. Somehow it felt less like a warning, an accusatory point at him, and more like a living, thinking thing that suddenly craved him right back. He let out a gasp, and the giantess above him reared slightly, defensively.

Brent and Miriam stared at each other in surprise. He wasn’t trying to escape, and she wasn’t trying to kill him with a tsunami of sexual appetite. They almost didn’t recognize each other.

Quietly, his wife asked him, “Do you want to try something new tonight?”

Just as quietly, her husband squeaked, “I would love to try anything you have in mind… lover.”

There was another moment of shock, of two minds racing.

With a dreamy grin, Miriam laboriously brought her knee upon the edge of the mattress. It nearly collapsed, digging a deep crater into the surface, and Brent felt the land beneath him buckle and bend. Digging his tiny fingers into the weave of the quilt, he anchored himself and watched as her other knee rose and plowed into the bedding. Just above him, her vast belly now hung from her spine and ribs, reaching almost down to where he lay. He felt its heat as it hung ponderously, lethally above him. Crazily he wondered whether he could stand up on the quilt and leap into her cavernous navel. Instead, he watched the exaggerated fertility goddess pass above like a storm front, until the mattress erupted with another major collision: Miriam now lay beside him, rolling to her back and throwing her legs up toward the ceiling to wrestle with tugging her panties over her abundant hips and free of her thick legs.

Panting, the gigantic wife finally stretched out and smiled at her husband. The tiny man was barely visible over her breast, now rolling off her chest and covering her arm. “I was just thinking,” she said, gasping, “that maybe I should let you do all the work this time.”

Brent picked himself up and stood shakily upon the quilt. “I don’t mind pitching in,” he called out, trying to sound brave. “What did you have in mind?”

Her huge, round shoulders rolled in syncopation. “I dunno. I thought maybe I’d place you somewhere and leave it up to you.” Her tongue, thick and red, somehow managed to run cutely along her upper lip.

Brent could only regard the impressive landscape of his wife: her leg ran up in a meaty massif to her hip, her belly rose like a mountain behind it, and her thick arm was a ridge that stretched from the foothills of her fingers up to the promontory of her boob. Beyond that lay the castle of her head, well-defended from attackers by a daunting landscape of flab and muscle.

“Yeah, you’ll definitely have to place me somewhere, unless you don’t mind hanging out for an hour while I find my way around.”

“Should I be insulted?” Her tone was bright and amused, and the thick hand that lay before him slowly lifted into the air, wriggling its fingers at him beckoningly. He smirked and trotted over, declining to comment on what an impressive effort it was for her to move any part of her at all. When her fingertips bumped against his bare body, they reached around and pinched him with surprising sensitivity. Surprising, because his very muscle memory tensed at the contact, expecting to be clutched in an inconsiderate and savage fist. Instead, she merely lifted him over her hip and placed him gently (not dropped him) upon her thicket of pubic hair.

“Right into the action, huh?” he hollered over the great curve of her belly.

“No point in wasting time,” came her distant voice like thunder. The fact was that she was incredibly horny, and he couldn’t know what an impressive show of self-restraint it was not to gobble him down or stuff him aggressively up inside her. The spell they were under piqued her curiosity, even to the degree that she was willing to set her old habits aside and try something novel. To assist him she heaved her trunk-like thighs apart; to protect him she reached overhead and wrapped her fists around the posts of the headboard, channeling all her tension into holding these fast.

The kinky, coarse hairs scratched Brent as he clutched them and lowered himself into her deep valley. The musky aroma of his wife’s arousal flooded his senses, and again his body had a moment of familiar tension. Normally the arousal heralded abuse, an onslaught of clenching and swallowing and crushing that by rights he felt he shouldn’t have survived. “It’s okay, it’s cool,” he muttered to himself, descending into the towering chasm of Miriam’s thighs, breathing slowly to control his racing heart. The belly disappeared behind the grove of pubes, and the rest of the bedroom was similarly eclipsed by the gargantuan inner thighs into which he voluntarily admitted himself. “It’s okay, you want to be here. First time for everything.”

Between his socked feet emerged her clitoris. It bulged, reddened and eager, and from around it spread the engorged and darkening panels of her labia. Clutching a wrinkle of her flesh, he reached down to hastily tug his socks off. They fluttered down below him, catching odd breezes as one drifted along the long curve of his wife’s inner thigh; the other one zagged and swooped directly below him, smacking against a labial fold and instantly getting drenched in her juices. Frowning, he futzed single-handedly with his boxers and attempted to wad them up and toss them for distance, but they too unfurled and homed right back into his wife’s huge pussy. Sighing, he reached for another fold of skin and stretched his legs down.

His toes found footing easily enough, but the flesh was tender and the juices spread readily, so one foot slipped frictionlessly over her outer labia and the other was promptly embedded in her folds.

“It’s so hard not to touch you right now.” Miriam’s voice was getting throaty and rich. “I’m just going to hold onto the bed and let you do your thing. I just hope, you know, you get on with it soon.” She gave the headboard a threatening rattle, banging it against the wall.

Gulping, Brent considered his position and wondered why he shouldn’t drape himself right where he was. He gathered as much of the thin folds of skin near her peak as he could, tried to crush them in his fists, and let his legs hang freely. His chest and belly nestled into the hotter, wetter inner labia and her thick lips spread around his sides. It was almost as though they were animated, prehensile, not just spreading to get out of his way but actively gnawing at him, sucking him within.

Here he was, hanging over his immense wife’s cavernous vulva, the site of so much terror and conflict. Normally he’d be praying for death, watching that toothless, gummy maw spread just enough to suck him inside and mash him around for hours. Now, however, he was in charge, and it cast an entirely different patina upon the environment. Rather than an angry, alien gash devouring him, he could see Miriam’s pussy as tender and inviting. Throbbing with desire, of course, but it couldn’t hurt him now. He relinquished one handhold and began to stroke the layers of wrinkled tissues beside him.

His tiny body jerked as Miriam let out a deep moan. “What did you do,” she gasped.

“I’m just touching you,” he yelled back. “I only touched you a little. Are you okay?”

“That was… really nice.” She sounded as though she were struggling to recall words. “Do that again.”

A prickly tension had been building up in Brent since he lowered himself down to his wife’s hellmouth. “I thought I was in charge here!” he yelled back, almost beyond thought.

The gigantic hillside of hips rocked heavily, and Brent’s tiny body boffed against the huge pussy. “Yes, of course. You’re in charge, dear.”

Surreal. The whole thing was surreal to him, but he nodded and looked again at the huge labia, thicker and longer than he was. Furrowing his brow, he slipped his arm between some folds of tissue. It sank in up to his elbow before his hand butted against an alcove of skin. He withdrew it, selected another fissure, and plunged his arm in up to his shoulder. Moist, seamy tissues suckled at his neck as he swished his arm inside his wife, reaching for nothing in particular but to blindly explore her interior.

Her moan came out as a fluttery sigh this time. With alarm he noted how her thighs tensed and heaved. He became very conscious of where he was and what would happen to him, should those huge walls of flesh suddenly scissor close. He couldn’t crawl out of the way fast enough; if he dropped to the bed, he’d only be trapped under her immense ass. Slowly his eyes rolled to the entrance of Miriam’s vagina. Was that a valid escape route, or was that just hurling himself into a new emergency?

“Please, lover,” she whimpered. Brent had never heard his wife sound so vulnerable in her life. It touched something deep inside him, and so he nodded to himself, kicked against the bulging labia, and swung away. He closed his legs, locking one foot around the other ankle, and plunged the entire lower half of his body into her pussy.

Miriam cried out, shocked at how such a little gesture could affect her. More than anything, she wanted to reach down and stuff him inside her, to feel his little body fold and squirm as she crushed him with her cunt. The desire to feel this nearly brought her to tears, but she tried to redirect all that anguish into her grip on the headboard. Oh, how her legs ached to close and clamp down upon him! But she dutifully kept them spread, doing nothing more than flexing her piggy toes in the empty air, leaving everything to him.

It felt like a thick finger was swimming around inside her now, just inside her entrance. She clenched her eyes, trying her hardest to envision the activity in her crotch.

Brent’s breath was hitching as his body seized in fright. The huge vulva spasmed around his waist, with long panels of pussy flesh pulsing urgently around him. There was nothing to grasp, what with the thick lubrication oozing over the rubbery tissues. He could only stretch out his arms in a T-shape to block himself from sinking within. He rested there, assuring himself of his immobility, letting the giant pussy squeeze his lower half rhythmically. He went no further, he realized. There were no muscles in her cunt that could clutch him and drag him within. Eyes huge, he giggled with relief and slowly cycled his legs inside her vagina.

It felt good. It was a good feeling, if you got past the panic of the rising cum-waters around your chest. If you didn’t mind the steady, insistent crush of vulvic rings applying dangerous pressure to your ribs, waist, hips, thighs, and knees, you realized they could only squeeze so hard before they released. Taking a deep breath, Brent dared to smile and reached up to caress Miriam’s huge, angry clit. It shuddered at his touch, then seemed to relax and even swell for more. Licking his lips, he brought his other arm up and grasped the nodule in both hands. He rolled his hips and allowed himself to slide deeper within the pussy lips, until they filled his armpits and writhed against his shoulder blades. Fascinated, he worked hard little fingers into her clitoris, wondering whether it was possible to hurt this sensitive nerve bundle. He’d heard so many things, after all, and it was difficult to know which was true.

Miriam dug her skull into her pillows, moaning with greater volume. Her clit was on fire, it was vibrating with a deep need, and that little man was doing something amazing to it. What was he doing? Could she get him to do it again? Her belly trembled with a 4.3 magnitude as her hips began seizing and jolting. Her cunt was starved for that little man, it needed so much more of him than he was offering. It needed all of him! Her pussy complained and ground its circular jaws around him, desperately trying to apprehend him and swallow him whole, but somehow he stayed outside. His squirming felt amazing, that was true, and it was delightful to feel him moving around inside her without fighting off her advances. He wasn’t screaming, he wasn’t crying or cursing her name: he had slipped down between her legs and inserted himself all of his own volition. Miriam bit her lip and mentally urged him to slip and fall inside and struggle for his fucking life while her pussy gobbled him up, every bite.

Instead, he very slowly, very patiently made love to his wife for hour after hour, well into the night.