She doesn’t know and I would never tell her. Because of the Coronavirus and everyone being quarantined it seems that you just have to get out of the... house. Originally we were going to meet on Monday but we had to change it to Wednesday because of conflicts in scheduling. His wife is considered essential personnel and my wife works part time and her job is also considered essential. We decided to meet at his house so around 1pm I went to the house and as I entered we started chatting. We didn’t. Chantelle, short and black, with plump lips that I just want to nibble on, and curves to rival Daytona. I could have a great time with her, I love the idea of a bit of race play, messing with the idea of slavery, checking her teeth, taunting her about breeding her, putting a collar on her and whipping her butt. I imagine forcing her down between my legs, fingers gripping her corn rows as those plump lips tease my swollen clit. I force myself over the edge, moisture dripping from me and leaving. It was paperclipped onto an envelope. As I looked at it I realised he waswearing my clothes and blowing a kiss at the camera.I took the picture from the envelope and turned it over.On the back it said:"Simone, Thanks for the clothes. Love, Serge."It was the first time anyone had addressed me in writing as "Simone", thefeminised version of my name that I now go by, and I felt somehowviolated. Jane had been the person to take my anal virginity and Serge,who I thought was my friend, had taken. I ran my hands over her knickers and felt her shape, that curious, firm, peachy split that turned into marshland. I slipped a finger inside her hot, steamy pussy and she responded by grabbing my balls through my jeans.“I want to lick you,” I said urgently.“Non,” she said, shaking her head. “Pas aujourd’hui. Pas ici.”It was a squalid situation, an ugly, unpleasant venue for what should have been a beautiful encounter. And the circumstances made it even worse: the deceit, the disloyalty, the.