Three months later I was on my back, on our bed, my legs wide: my man where he loved to be, his face buried in my groin, his tongue licking and lathin..., while his expert fingers stroked my clit and my G-spot. I lost count of just how often and in how many places in the weeks after the party, I’d had to slip off my knickers, so he could dine on my pussy.He couldn’t, it seemed, get enough of what he described as, succulent as a peach dipped in honey. I jerked and cried out as my first orgasm of. "I quickly fumbled into my blue jeans for my wallet and flipped open myI.D. The crew cut behemoth on the left looked at it, looked at me thenhe looked at Paul who nodded. The man on the right stamped my handleaving a red smudge of some Kanji writing and stepped out of the doorto let us through."They didn't stamp your hand, Paul," I said pushing my wallet back intomy jeans and brushing the tail of my polo shirt clear so it didn't bunchup."I'm a regular," he said. We stepped through another door. More

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