Juniper was lying there as usual, looking at the ceiling and wondering when it was last painted. It was looking pretty damn grey instead of the pristine white it should look. Her husband Alaric, poor him, was grunting, thrusting, sweating on top of her. It wasn’t his fault, really. He had a small p***s, that’s all there was to it.
Her husband’s c**k was only three and a half inches long and was very thin in the bargain.
Juniper had been married for five years, five orgasm free years, and was so sexually frustrated she felt like jumping on the first good-looking guy that came to the house.
She had fantasized before about the milkman or the postman, hell, even the paperboy, f*****g her with their huge c***s; they always had huge c***s in her fantasy.
Her husband tried, he really did, to
