I put up my hand. "No, no, hang on." Then, to the men. "I can't have a cum drippin' cunt like yours soaking my new pants, can I?"She hung her head and...whispered, "no, Sir." Wait, is the cunt a cum drippin' cunt or is she a cum drippin' cunt?" one of the men asked, laughing.I turned to my wife, raised her face with my hand and looked into her eyes. "Well? Is your cunt a cum drippin' cunt or are you a cum drippin' cunt?"I saw her belly tremble, knew the talk had turned her on. Nothing turned my. Bread. Onions. A carrot. A potato. That’s it. No wonder they look like ghosts. Unhappy ones. Of course they’re pale. Where’s the sun, anyway? And it’s not even winter yet.She had hated London. Too many people. Too many horses and carriages. Smelly. Dirty. Noisy. Oxford, on the other hand, seemed to her to be just about the right size despite the mud and the cold and the food. Already home to almost two dozen or so colleges that made up the famous University of Oxford, its streets were full of. More

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