Dungeon wife

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"I want a picture," Tony Rollins said, as his hand left the light switch and he walked over to the old wooden stocks.

"Then take it!" his wife, Debby, urged, her voice little more than a whisper.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her tits to try to hold out the chill her wispy halter top couldn't prevent. Even her ass was cold. The tight little short-shorts, as yellow as her hair, didn't help much. They were so snug that they showed the crack of her ass, and the crease of her cunt. Even though it was a summer evening, the dank old dungeon in northern New England felt like winter was coming on.

"That's not what I mean," Tony said stubbornly, turning back to stare at Debby.

God, he looks like a nerd, Debby thought. Standing there with a camera dangling from his neck down to his chest. His dark, brown hair looked washed-out in the yellowed light the old bulbs along the wall gave out, and the rough features of his face were shadowed.

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