One dull Wednesday morning we found ourselves sitting in the study room with me trying to explain to her for the umpteenth time that the problem wasn�...��t, thanks to my recently acquired understanding of teenaged boys, a lack of willing candidates but that I was scared my kissing wouldn’t be up to scratch and I’d be this dreaded laughing stock. Katherine’s natural self confidence was preventing her from understanding me. Half irritated and half joking I said, “I – don’t – know – how – to – kiss! I. Then things came back into focus as I looked outacross the neatly manicured lawns of Number 27 Chestnut Avenue. "But thisplace was totally overgrown when we came in," I remarked in a bemusedfashion."Yes; and that isn't the only thing that has changed," said the manstanding by my side. "Look at us."I turned and looked at the man carefully. Of course I recognised him; itwas Graeme Stephenson, owner of a fashionable photographic studio and myhusband. 'My husband?' Yes, of course; I was Samantha. Then one day she wanted a picture of my penis which after some time she also started to touch and gently stroke without me having an orgasm. So we took those pictures and taking the advantage of the situation I asked her please to give me an orgasm. Her gentle hands did a fine job and my sperm, partly slimy and partly very thick went out into the wide world. With amazing eyes and not knowing what she saw it was again a great experience for her but as I felt she liked what she saw. Again much. The climb up the stairs was painful. He had really given her pussy a pounding this time. She dumped her bag and coat in the corner and looked out a change of clothes. She really needed a shower.The water was warm and she luxuriated in the flow, running the previous few hours back in her mind, feeling her body respond. She slipped a hand between her thighs, wondering if she could eke out a third cheeky orgasm. The sharp pain that greeted her hopeful fingers made her wince and whip her hand back..