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I needed to calm down.The bar was all I had in life. I got it in the divorce agreement. His sorry ass walked away with most everything else. We had to sell the house to pay off bills but he kept the new car for the sole reason I couldn’t make the payments. I got an old truck. That’s okay. Ole Betsy has been good to me.I changed the name of the bar to suit me and break away from him. He doesn’t deserve a name. I’d walked into the office one night to put cash in the safe and the motherfucker had two bar whores in there fucking them. I’ll be damned. I snapped a few pictures, and walked out, slamming the door. The motherfucker didn't even see me: all he saw was that rotten cunt in his mouth.It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d cheated. But it would be the last. The very next day I filed for divorce.Since I had photographic proof, the Judge told him to stay out of the bar 'till everything was settled. If I eventually got the bar, he wouldn’t be allowed in ever again, unless I gave. “Okay,” Dyl nodded, too. Scott made him go outside and then come in to the living room and stop, then he turned to me and said, “Okay, bro. Spank.” I had an anticipatory erection, but Scott had positioned me exactly and I had to keep leaning forward so all three cameras caught what they were supposed to, and it was weird, seriously, to follow these instructions. Scott was holding a camera but also using his left hand to direct, and I did as he motioned, which was move my hands over my jeans and then take them down and pull out my boner. I managed it, but Scott was beckoning at me kind of furiously because when I sat back down after pulling down my jeans I wasn’t in the right spot. It seemed like a lot of my performance might consist of me looking slightly off to the left for my instructions. I had my dick out, then, on film, and there was some freedom to that, I think, because it was started. I closed my eyes once I knew Scott had me where he wanted me, and I tried to think sexy.
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