There was no one there except for me.Suddenly a woman came running. She looked stunning. She was wearing a black saree. Her hair was not tied, and she... had her heels on. She looked a bit older than me. Maybe 30 or 35, not more than that.Since the bus stop was empty, she looked at me and smiled. She had this amazing smile. She asked: Has the bus for Umarpur left?I replied: No, it will arrive in a minute or so.I ended the conversation with a smile. She smiled back too. We spent about 15 minutes. At the table after our first drink she says she needs to go to the toilet, before she leaves I say remove your panties and after you pee, slide them into your cunt and play with your self and then bring them back here to me folded neatly. Off she went and returned slightly flushed ten minutes later. The waiter helped her slide into her seat again and she leaned over and placed her warm damp panties just next to my drink, I lay my hand in them and could feel the heat from her cunt. I smiled at. "Now all we need is some massed drums to go with the pipes and we'll have a marching band." Thought Scott.Drums were easier to make; sheep hides being stretched over wooden frames to create a drum 'head'. Scott asked for volunteers and explained the idea of the drummers creating the marching cadence through their beat. Some additional practice with the pipers soon had them working effectively together.Gabrain and Scott now made their preparations for the spring offensive in Galloway. They had. It felt to her like every male- student or faculty - was looking at her. Staring at her. Undressingher with their eyes. Raping her in their minds.The trial - evidentiary hearing, actually - was torture. He had loads ofcharacter witnesses. Friends from the swim team told what a right guyand a good leader he was. Professors reported on his academic success.And several women - righteous babes all, she caught herself thinking -swore that he was a gentleman who would _never_ - force himself on.