.just a little more… The phone rings again — FUCK!!! This person is very persistent; I release my cock and grab the phone to see who it is. HOLY S...HIT. It’s the wife, checking in to see how the day went and to catch up. I try to slow my breathing down to have a conversation with her, pulling my finger out of my ass creating a feeling of emptiness, then begin to discuss my day with my wife. I fly home the next day, and try to forget about the events that transpired that night. After all, I am a. Then a second beer. The greasy food and the alcohol, both of which tasted wonderful and all the more so for being seriously sinful, made me feel a good deal better.I looked back over the preceding weeks. I had a relaxed, comfortable life before that stupid BBC programme. Programmes like that should carry a health warning.She seemed intent on finding me, then intent on meeting me, then intent on explaining to me, except that she didn't. What was her intent after that? I had suspected that she. Maris disappeared into the hallway; Hannelore heard what she presumed was his bedroom door open, then close. She scanned his living room.The pâtissier kept a clean house. Minimalist, even. The layout was the same as Hannelore's place, only reversed -- for example, Maris's bedroom was on the righthand side of the apartment, whereas Hannelore's was on the left. It suddenly occurred to Hannelore that her bedroom most likely adjoined Maris's.Aside from an overfull bookshelf, Maris didn't seem. This was Friday and one would have expected most kids to be rushing to get home, but not so this unlucky Friday the thirteenth of April, as it happened. Jessie and Kaila walked right up to him and George became excited and nervous at the sight of their smiles, their hip swaying sashay, their siren sensuality, their devil-eyes boring into his soul.He could not resist nor did he want to as Jessie stood before him and Kaila just behind; their buxom bodies and fair faces touched George in all ways.