It was intriguing; he had my wallet, the pictures of her that I kept inside, an old snapshot of her in a bikini at Cape Cod, formal portrait stills of her and my two girls, a picture of the two of us at our wedding reception.It was around four-thirty when the door bell chimed. I glanced out the window and saw the BMW convertible parked in our drive, top up of course, winter salt and grime giving it a leached-out grayness.Ellen was down the steps and at the door in a lick, clearly wanting to get there ahead of me."Hi," she said, stepping back a bit, her head craned upward."You're Ellen." I saw only the hand with my wallet in it, the voice deep and masculine, cool and sly. "I'd recognize you anywhere." Come on in," she said, ushering him inside with a wave. I noticed that she'd changed her clothes since I'd gotten home—a turtleneck traded in for a chic white blouse, which together with her slacks perfectly accented her thin, athletic frame, a healthy bounce to her tits."I was looking. I gulped at the thought of that monster taking me by force. I slowly unbuttoned the rest of his button-fly and pulled his jeans open. He wore cheap white briefs, that were obscenely distended by his now twitching cock, which arced off to the side. The pungent smell of ball and ass sweat wafted out in my face, and I paused. “That’s it, you little whore, pull it out,” he pushed me on.I took hold of the waistband of his briefs and pulled it out, over and down. His penis swung free to bob and point at my forehead, and it was huge. Continuing my mental ID inventory, I noted that he was probably about eight inches long, and uncut. There was a freckle or mole on the foreskin on the left side. The head was half-exposed and a bead of precum was forming in the slit.“What are you waiting for, bitch? Suck it,” he ordered.I was shaking all over, and I leaned in slowly, then he stopped me.“Wait.” He put the knife behind my ear and braced it there with his thumb, the way you peel an apple. “You.
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