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Standing, she looked like a fit, adorable, and somewhat stoned nudist jogger. She giggled, scampered off to our bedroom, and returned moments later wearing a pink dog collar. And this was my wife, after all—show a little respect. And chances were pretty good, actually, that the wife they had was all right, just like mine was all right. But they also wanted the fantasy wife—the dog-collared, pink-shoed, sexually insane slut who would eagerly do whatever she was told. I returned to the laptop, scrolled through the comments. Just those, nothing else.” My wife sat and pulled back on her footies and pink workout shoes. C’mere.” I gestured, and she leaned in so I could whisper in her ear. That suggested most of our audience consisted of older married guys-guys with a little money and a long marriage who thirsted for the fantasy wife instead of the one they had. Nails scraping on glass, light whimpers punctuated by occasional barks. Her tongue darted out, and with a moan she sloppily and completely lapped up Gunther’s cum. She collapsed, dead to everything except her own fading ecstasy. Take that shit off.” My wife pulled her sports bra off over her head. A bunch of viewers, knowing what was coming, wanted to rush to the end.
And get dinner ready.” She smiled, kissed my forehead again, and went off to get into her workout clothes. Tiny green lights sprinkled throughout the house came to life. My wife walked out of the bedroom, ready for the gym in a black sports bra, black yoga pants, and pink workout shoes.
” “Yessssss....” “So, baby, our home’s a mess, isn’t it? Get to work.” “Okey-dokey,” she said, blowing a sloppy kiss at the camera.
“S’a fucking pigsty.” “Well, your guys out there want to see you to clean it up.
Then she kicked off her shoes used her toes to pull off her socks.
Her pale white boobs bounced out, pink nipples erect.
I pretty much lived in this room and didn’t go much of anywhere these days.