Since I'll probably be spending most of that time in jail, it really doesn't matter.How did I go so wrong in my life you're probably wondering, right?...Well, let me tell you about it. It all started a few months ago at our town's Fourth of July celebration.My wife, Angela, and I hardly ever get to hang out in town much. We met in college. I was there working on a degree in manufacturing and she was in finance. We were the typical fringe students. Both of us were just attractive enough to do well. You hear the lock of the cell and the door opens. Someone in a red cloak enters with a burning torch on his hand, his face hidden in the shadow of the hood. “Meet the inquisitor” said the jailer before closing the door. You know their reputation for pyre building and stare at the man with fear. Even if you know that you are innocent of the murder, the trial and the look of the villagers has inserted doubt in you. You remember wishing dead some of the people who later died including your parents. I wondered what it would have been like to be a house negra back a hundred and fifty years ago, a bedroom slave for a man who owned a hundred others. There'd be a crowd of blacks bent over in the sun, women and children singing while they picked cotton with burlap sacks hanging from their shoulders. The men would have been working the machinery and bailing raw cotton onto wagons for the short ride to the Mississippi River and the big old steamers running north and south. And I'd be sitting on. I pulled her hair making her deep throat me. Causing her to gag and pull away. I would let her get comfortable again, sucking and licking my cock then grab her hair and shove my cock deep into her throat again. She would gag again but never miss a stroke. This continued for 7 or 8 minutes, and people were walking within 6 feet of us. A couple guys would catch a glimpse, take a second look, smile and walk on.Just about the time my cock was swelling to its fullest and my balls were tightening.
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