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"The flight attendants all said that they had no problems with me using my camera in here. I need some photographic evidence for husband and children, you know, like documentary proof of my slutty behaviour." A smile lit up her face as she turned to Bill and the other two guys. "That would be okay if photos were taken of me with my lips wrapped around your cocks wouldn't it? Of course your faces don't have to be in the photos if you don't want them to be. I just hope that your cocks look different enough."Well you can leave my face in the photo," said Ian Beattie as he moved to Emma Whitman and pulled her T-shirt from the waistband of her skirt and eased it up over her shoulders and her up stretched arms until he was able to deposit it on the floor next to one of the mattresses."Yeah me too," giggled Emma. "I think I like the idea of other people seeing pictures of me sixty-nining a guy I've just met." You know you've got really nice tits," commented Ian as he returned to the task at. I looked up at the little envelope icon. Could I really do this? Could I send a message to some stranger and ask him to train me as a fuckpig? Apparently, I could, because that's exactly what I did. "Hi, I might be interested in online training, but I'm married and I don't want my husband to find out," is what I wrote. I was very careful to specify the "online" nature of my request. I had no intention of actually cheating on my husband. Back then, the idea seemed utterly abhorrent. That sentimentality seems so quaint now. At first, I received no reply and I immediately felt like an idiot. The guy was probably some pimple-faced teenager whacking off in his mother's basement. Still, I kept checking my inbox almost every minute all afternoon. I was just about to give up when I saw that I had a message. My hand was literally shaking as I clicked on the little envelope icon. "Hello, darling. Of course I would accept you for training. I love to train married sows. And don't worry, hubby.
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