“Give me your panties. Are they wet?” “Mmhm, they’re very wet,” she whispered, standing up straight, still facing away from me, and flickin...g her panties over her shoulder towards me. I took them from her and immediately pressed them to my lips. “You smell so fucking good.” My tongue ran over them, my lips sucking out the warm juices which had soaked the fabric through. “And you taste so good too.” “Thank you,” she said quietly. She sounded a little impatient, as if she were about to tell. Even her house in the forest, despite the acres of land to themselves, had had little more than a patch of vegetables to be tended when the season was right. Contending with so much nature seemed a fruitless effort unless fruit really was the product of such work. Here, all the greenery seemed largely for show. The outer walls of the manor stood tall and firm with wrought iron spikes topping the stone. There was a heavy wooden gate separating them from the interior of the walls. Beside it stood. Her stomach was flat showing the slightest signs of a six-pack with a pierced belly button. Further down between her spread legs she had a completely shaven pussy with a pronounced pubic mound and wet swollen labia. I saw the hint of an engorged clit peaking from under its hood. Her legs were long and slightly muscular from either working out or working on her father’s ranch. I was shocked and could not believe what lay on my bed. “I’m taking you up on your proposition,” she said. I must have. As I stood on first, the Toronto manager came and got his weary pitcher.Another thing I loved doing was crossing up the opposition's defense. During the first two weeks of the season, I deliberately hit everything to left field. I'd pull ground-rule doubles down the foul line, bouncing them into the stands after they landed, barely fair, behind third base. I'd whip ground singles between third and short. Everything I hit was "pulled" -- if anything I hit could really be called a pull hit.Word.