The next week, the phone rang as I was putting a roast in the oven. It was Mattie. "Darling, I want to take you to a place I know that you will love. ...You told me your husband is gone this whole week, so I hope you're free. I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow night, wear your sexiest outfit. There will be a lot of hot girls to compete with." The place she took me was in a town about thirty miles away, in a seedy neighborhood, but its simple exterior was guarded by two large, handsome men wearing. This young man had been pounding my wife for a solid 30 minutes with no sign of letting up. He then laid on the floor and guided my wife to mount him. As she was bouncing up and down on this young man’s dick she started rubbing her clit and within seconds I watched her drench her young stud as she was squirting all over his chest. She was screaming out in pleasure as Trevor kept pulling her hips toward him.I was so aroused and turned on watching my wife squirt all over this young man. I have. It's like when a woman comes out of the toilet and has “forgotten” to zip up her jeans but in reality has done it for your benefit, which Airis herself had done once when only she and I had been in the office. Maybe some people would have immediately known it was deliberate, but I tend to make no such assumptions.This time, though, we were alone at my flat, standing very close together and there was that magical electricity between us.Airis pushed a book into the middle of the table and leaned. The writing on some of the pages was in some language that none of Gearjammer could understand. It might have been Latin. Or Swahili. Or Martian. The old man from the sarcophagus had a point, but there was no way to prove it either way."Well, then Shakespeare must be dead," Boadie mused. "Writing in English and everything." Not at all," replied Kepler. "I'm here, I am pretty much alive, obviously, and as your Dutch friend said, I lived around the same time as Shakespeare."Brent grinned at.