Maybe they'd lighten up a little and get off my back, so I really could go out and find my own dates.Pulling on my robe, I went to the kitchen for the phone and dialed Bob's number.Saturday, afternoon, September 8th {Bob}I stared at the dog door. Bandit was happily going in and out. Every time he came in he looked at me and wagged his tail. I had actually made him happy! Well ... Chris had made him happy. She was the one who was actually responsible for the success of the project. She was also responsible for something else ... the lump in my pants. There's a button in a man somewhere, and when a woman like Chris suggests he have dinner with her, that button gets pushed. It's a little like one of those things that Jet pilots wear, where if they have to ditch in the ocean, they pull a cord and presto - something inflates.You can't help it, even when you feel bad about it, like I did. Chris was a nice girl. I could just tell. She wasn't a hot-blooded virgin, like the woman who wrote my. " I hurry to comply with his wishes, a bit clumsily, but knowing there is just a small window of time I put speed before grace. He takes my underwear and lifts them to his nose, inhaling deeply, groaning before putting them in his pocket. "A little souvenir," he says grinning and leaning to whisper in my ear. "You smell divine, Miss Steel. I bet you taste even better. But no time for that right now." His fingers are raising the hem of my skirt, tracing up the inside of my thighs coming closer to my weeping sex. "I haven't been able to get out of my head the way you sound when you cum. The way you shuddered as I drove in to you. How beneath that prim and proper exterior is a wanton slut just ready to be used." He has been thinking about me? In that way? Why hasn't he said anything? Why hasn't he... My thoughts scatter as his fingers slide through my wetness. Oh, My, God, is the only thought left as his skillful fingers slip and tease my slippery folds, softly playing, tracing my.
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