Thinking of the man she awaited, often in the nights, her fingers would wind their way along her skin, over the slopes of her hips, to the center of h...r thighs; wet lips there that clasped at her hands, sucking them in slowly, a sharp twisting grind of her clitoris against the back of her palm. Thinking of the man she awaited, her mind went all Art Deco; herself a goddess draped in velvet and ermine, gigantic embracing hat akimbo, a svelte hound beside her on its studded leash. Thinking of the. ?Let’s get this off,? he said. ?It’s wet and it will just make you colder.??No, that’s ok,? I spluttered, but he insisted again and so I let him untie the back and pull the bikini out from underneath the sweater.?Does that feel better?? he asked, dropping my bikini top to the ground.?Uh, yes,? I mumbled, unable to hold his gaze. He was in control, not me. I was simply obeying. He was so close, and then I felt him reach under the sweater and begin to tug on my bikini thong. I tried to step. More

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