Standing before me was Ms Writ wearing a white one-piece swimming costume which barely contained her ample bust and drew attention to her erect nipple.... She had her hair in two ponytails, one on each side. The lower half of her costume offered hardly any coverage; the front was a thin bit of fabric which barely covered her pussy and round the back was a piece of string which went right up her arse, emphasising her bubbly butt cheeks. The other great about Ms Writ was she tried to be a friend. Her eyes dared to meet his green ones. They were light like the sun shining through the leaves. And then in a short second, his pupils dilated at rapid speed as he crashed his lips against hers. Without warning, Sylar worked his fingers like a piston. Hard. Short. Pressurized jabs going in and out of her until the sounds of his fingers in her slick core became as heavy as the scent of their sex in the air. His thumb pressed down on her clit, and his fingers rushed into a blur. Emma squeezed. More

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