He had to pay for that. Not for fucking my wife, but for smiling at me while he was doing it, for pretending to be my buddy while doing it.One night a... he came out the back door of his bar he walked into my fist - about four times - and when his head cleared he found himself inside the camper on the back of my pick up truck watching me clean my finger nails with a very large hunting knife."Talk to me Richard. Convince me I shouldn't do bad things to you for fucking my wife." I don't know what. In the toilet his insistent bladder almost started to empty itself as he struggled to unfasten the belt to his jeans, lift his shirt and pull his cock free from the boxer shorts that he now regretted wearing, he literally danced on the spot. Behind him a gasp of exasperation brought him the the reality of not fastening the door to the room. As the strong, unstoppable stream of urine splashed into the porcelain he glanced sidewise to find a young woman brushing by him. She was remonstrating. More

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