He dragged themug down her backbone and when he came to her ass he tipped the mug and leta drizzle of ice-cold beer trickle down the crack of her ass....Her toes curled,making him laugh. He slipped a finger into her slit; she was wet, but not as wet as she couldbe. He stroked her clit, gently teasing it, not giving her the satisfactionhe knew she craved. He was going to draw this out. After all, she was his birthdaypresent, he should get to enjoy it. He finished his beer, held the mug upside down. He stuffed his semi-limp, still dripping cock back into his trouser and, in his Hugh Grant accent, said “Good day!” and walked away.I remained seating with my post orgasmic limpness and wondered how I was going to go back to the office smelling like a whore and with a wet patch on my trousers.Quite a few days went by with me sitting in the park but there was no sign of my mystery man until about a week later. It was just like before: he politely asked if he could sit, I said yes, he asked if we. More

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