The thrill of watching my husband dominate the young vixen, only made me wet inside my own panties; damp and warm between my long thighs. He isn’t about to... is he? Doesn’t he see me? The thoughts ran wild in my mind, but I couldn’t silence them. The anguish, the agony and the anxiety, all coupled with the anticipation that my very own husband was about to claim such a virginal, youthful beauty like Polly. If I was to be entirely honest, a tinge of jealousy surged in my wrists, leaving them tight and complimenting my balled fists. Yet, as Trent peeled the denim from her lithe legs, my fists unclenched and grew waifish, as my fingers slid down the sides of my legs. I wanted badly to restrain myself; you’re such a dirty little slut, Ada, I thought to myself, with an appropriate chuckle. And
