But they didn't move, each girl lost in her own world of magazines and smartphones and boy bands. Feeling emboldened, I slipped my hand into the waist...and of my skirt, pushing my fingers down to my throbbing pussy. Oh God, I was so wet, wetter than I'd been in a decade of loveless marriage. I felt young and alive, a hot mix of shame and arousal rising like a fireball from my sex to ignite my senses. As my fingers found my clitoris, I imagined what it would be like to touch the girls, how their. " "Very good Sir". He prefers old fashionedforms of speech in this sort of situation. As I cross the floor I see heis wearing what seems to be a dressing gown, odder and odder for a man whois normally meticulous in his dress. Sitting back in the chair I look atmy boss, engrossed in whatever he is doing. A man of fifty-two with a head of purewhite hair, he's a couple of inches over my 5' 10", narrow face with deeplines in the cheeks and a high forehead hinting at the power of his mind.His. More

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