She kept trying to interview me about everything I bought. I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up, but I resisted, I kept reminding myself that I wa... making a hell of a lot of money to put up with her shit."So why are we in the sporting good section?" she asked."I need a new coat, my old one caught fire remember?" I asked it to answer her question."Yes but why sporting goods?" she asked.When I found a hip length hunting coat that was Camouflage, she stopped asking. "Do you get it now," I. “We’re going to a hotel. You can leave your car here. We’ll use mine and bring you back here.” She started to say something, swallowed, averted her eyes. Summoned her nerve. “Master, I - I don’t know your name,” she said. She glanced quickly at the swelling in my crotch, then looked up with wide eyes. I smiled. “I know,” I said. As we approached my dark blue sedan, I heard her quick intake of breath. She stopped. Like last time, I knew she was making a decision. I was one step ahead of. He was just 25."John held his hand up. "He, who?" Rod Erickson."The name meant nothing to him. He was an asshole destined for an Italian suit and a trip to Biarritz. "Go on." We flirted during dinner and it started getting a little physical. I don't know why. He was good looking, but..."John interrupted. "Have you been taking your medicine?" If I could blame it on depression, it would be so much easier, wouldn't it? No, it started because ... my being at the dinner was a waste of time. It was a. Dancing stopped. Sasha moved and pressed her body fully against mine, her movements rubbing my erection, my hand inside her sweats caressing her butt.Tongues touched. Her stunning eyes winked out, eyelids closing. A murmur sent chills through me and we French kissed. The kiss intensified, tongues probing, arousal storming in; kissing Sasha was so exciting. I pulled my hands out of her sweatpants and reached down, lifting her up from under her ass. Still kissing, Sasha wrapped her legs around my.
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