Irina had basically been owned all of her life. She had had her path in life determined by someone else since she was a child. Now, with Old Carl's death, and her personal independence finally established for the first time in her life, she had been surprised to find that she was used to being directed by someone else and she had realized that she would miss that somewhat, unless...The desire to determine her path for herself was still there. But Irina realized now that she found it quite easy to submit to Peterson; probably because she had been conditioned to do so with other men, and even a few women. She realized this on a rational level; but, at another much deeper level, she was thrilled at Peterson's forcefulness; his maleness! his charisma! and now, oh, God, his wonderful tongue!My God, Irina thought, where did he learn to be so good at eating pussy? Only another woman could have done it any better than he did it!Pete had rolled up over Irina and was now kissing his way up her. " His wife said, entering the bedroom; and as he thought his worst nightmare had arrived, his dreams began to come true.()()He looked down in shame at his predicament, letting her scornful laughter assail him mercilessly. She approached, like a cat stalking a mouse, placing a booted heel between his shoulders, pinning him to the mirror, forcing him to face his perverse alter ego, eye-to-eye."I've come home early thanks to Mrs. Lord's troublesome son, Gordon." She informed himcurtly. "Were you talking to him earlier?" NO!" He gasped." Certainly not." Are you sure?" She spat venomously, grinding her boot into his back."Absolutely sure." He said, genuinely bewildered by the question."We caught him, just as i found you." She said, apparently satisfied with his answer. "Cock in hand. I was about to call Mrs. Barton when i got home, only to find you talking filth. Now tell me. Why?"Peter saw there was no other option but to tell all and he did so, leaving nothing out.Honesty may not always.
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