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." The Therapist cut me off. "Let's not come to any conclusions at this point; it's important that you both understand each others position before you...come to any conclusions."Hmm OK, I thought. So I went through the list, the bossiness, the money problems, the attempts to belittle me the violence and the sexual issues. Safira's response to all of it was that I deserved all I got and was lucky to have her. The Therapist asked me what bothered me the most. I told her it was a silly thing, but I. She opens the messages and starts to types a reply.“He asks where,” she tells me. “What do I tell him?” she asks.“Do you want his cock?” I reply.“Only if you're here,” Is her answer.“I’ll be here, wouldn’t miss it for the world!” I exclaim.“Yes, I want his cock in me with yours.” Her reply is enough.“I’ll leave the rest to you to sort then, it’s your call now.”She finishes off the message and hits send, but keeps the phone in one hand while I carry on rubbing her wet and juicy pussy. My fingers. "Don't bother hiding it, Bobby. I've seen those things before. But not since your Dad shipped out overseas."She lifted my modesty magazine off my dick and stared at the shrinking tool. She squinted, she smiled and then she sighed. Repeating herself,"But not since your Dad shipped out."I lay there frozen in time, unable to breathe. Mom reached out her hand and touched my cock, making it grow – if that was even possible. Her head shook. She began to stroke my meat, gently, the way I usually began. Afterwards, the big wigs switched to whisky, some stuck to wine, I stuck to beer. I wanted to be fit for action. I watched and danced with a few women. I lost sight of my target for the night, Abby. I had seen her at first, in her tartan mini skirt with long black boots covered in buckles, and a studded dog collar. I went upstairs, used the bathroom and then wandered down the long corridor, passed open bedroom doors until I found one shut.I opened it quietly and there, on the double bed, was.
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