I feel my briefcase rub against her left thigh; I imagine I am protecting her from the pushchair a barrier between her and the others. I freeze again...as our bodies exchange heat. I fear she will move, turn to me in disgust or slap my face, yet I cannot move away from her.The lift gently jerks as it moves on to the next floor. My tool glides sexily against her soft flesh, pressing uncontrollably and intimately into her. I dare not move, I can’t move, I want the lift to stop at each floor; I. She had had her clothes on, I was sure. And I was certainly dressed, coming in from the outside as we had. So there must have been some conversation, if only to fill the time required getting our clothes off. But I don't remember any of it.The most enduring image I have of that first day is of myself lying on the living room couch with Maggie astride me and kneeling over my face as my tongue devoured her, offering me free advice."Yes, yes, oh I love it when you squeeze my ass cheeks together. More

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