She glanced down at him reclining on the sofa with his head tilted toward the television screen watching the Oakland A's hit a home run, and she covetously eyed the thick elongated bulge in his polyester pants that seemed to her passion-glazed eyes to be a foot long. She twitched nervously, unused to a man's hungry eyes on her naked flesh. "You 'vant to watch 'vatch me or de game?" she whined finally, grinding her sleekly firm thighs together to fight the growing agony between her legs.

But Roger had other plans, plans he'd laid out as carefully as those he was watching on television. Only his stakes might be higher… Margaret was coming along nicely, even better than he'd hoped. But if she was going to have any respect for him at all, he was going to have to show her who called the punches. Women liked that, he thought, they liked to be dominated – especially blondes.

Margaret watched nervously and impatiently as he swung his legs off the sofa and without haste pulled off his clothes, tossing them to join the rest on the nearby chair. She had to quickly draw her hand to her lips to stifle a gasp as he tugged down his undershorts and the entire huge length of his massively thick cock swung out into view. God, it was so big! Even bigger than Sandor's! And so big around, nothing like the only one she had ever seen.

"You 'vant to fuck now?" asked Margaret with saucered eyes. Just the thought of making love again was enough to make her soar. And with a man as handsome as Roger, she thought. A man… her man. He liked her; he had praised her cooking and cleaning, hadn't he? Wasn't that what a man looked for in a good woman. A ripple of happiness spread through her tingling body: she wouldn't be spending the rest of her life alone after all. She had Roger. But it bothered her the way he kept watching television instead of whispering sweet endearments in her ear, as Sandor had done. Her forehead furrowed and her pouty lower lip protruded as she said, "You 'vant to make love, or not?"