Joan.
The next morning, James was humming cheerfully as he dressed for work, completely oblivious to the fact that his wife had become a starving, dripping slut overnight — and that the man responsible was his own father.
Noah.
I lay in bed pretending to be half-asleep, but my mind was replaying the memory of Noah’s thick c**k on an endless filthy loop.
Even the vibrators I used most nights couldn’t satisfy the ache.
Plastic toys and James’s average d**k were pathetic compared to what I had glimpsed.
Noah’s c**k was flushed, heavy, veined, and monstrous — far too big and beautiful for a man his age.
It had ruined me.
I had stalked his social media all night, watching every gym video, imagining licking the sweat off his muscular chest, his abs, his thighs… God, what I wouldn’t
