Her husband would stop after work for drinks with his buddies and not get home until late and when he did get home there would be a faint whisper of p...rfume that was not Maddie's and maybe a lipstick smudge somewhere. Maddie was sure that her husband was fucking around on her. Was he? I have no idea, but the important thing was that Maddie thought he was. One day Maddie was telling me about how her husband had come home late with a phone number in his pocket in what Maddie was sure was a. ?Yes.?He slides his hand down the inside of her thigh and just above her knee he presses deep with his fingers.She convulses.?No! Don’t.? She giggles and screams.?Please. Stop.? She is spastic, without the muscle control to marshal a decent defense.?I hate it when you tickle me.?He slides his hand between her legs.?Doesn’t feel like hate to me.?He inserts his fingers inside of her pussy and pushes his free hand deep into her armpit. ?No. Damn it.? She squirms, writhes, and holds her breath. More

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