He was ready to come. His cock was swelled, and his breathing was shallow. He stood close, so his movement was near me, and he smiled at me before the last stroke.When he came, I could see everything clearly. The slip of his hand over the end of the head and back again, and the spurt of the fluid from the end. As well as seeing it, I could feel it. His come spurted across the small gap between us, and most of it landed on my busy hand. A small amount fell between my fingers and my desperate clit, and that was all I could take.As I rubbed his hot semen in my most sensitive parts, I crossed the point of no return. The near silence of the room was punctuated by my loud gasp of release. My knees jerked upward as I hunched over, my hands continuing their work even as the electrified nerve endings of my sex cried for me to stop, overwhelmed with the feeling of release.He laughed then, as he stood there. He slowly stroked his still-hard cock, coaxing the last of his release, smiled, and. But that's not what caused me to become what I am today. What caused that happened on a Sunday afternoon two years and four months ago.My wife had gone back to work several years ago when the kids were old enough to look after themselves and she wanted something more to do than vacuum and laundry. I couldn't complain. It would bring some more income into the house and we could use it for luxuries like vacations or maybe even a cottage near Georgian Bay. She had done very well with an insurance outfit and had risen to middle management and I was quite impressed with how far she had come in a fairly short period.One day, she came home from work and said the company was sending her and about a dozen of her other female managers to a retreat for a week. She said it was one of those touchy-feely self actualization things that big companies with too much money do to make sure they look like they are politically correct. A fuckin' waste of time I thought, but I nodded my head and said all.
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