The first few times Ariel and I got all-limbs-akimbo intimate, I of course found my face parked between her thighs. What would the world be without lo...vely wet cunts to lick? A fucking desert, I tell you. The outlawing of dessert.These instances, Ariel had the expected earthquakes, but when I'd draw myself up afterwards to madly kiss her face I'd find her weeping. Her tears were not of ecstasy, and I could never get anything out of her except that she had some sort of secret.Well, what was I. Something about the mystery man was endearing to me. So much so that I swallowed his entire load. Did I have some intuitive realization as to who was on the other side of the wall? Was I subconsciously more eager because in the back of my mind I knew who it was? That’s absurd, had I known I would have stopped immediately. Right?And what he said in the booth about being lonely really stood out to me. As far as I knew, Matthew never dated after my mom died. Never even flirted with anyone. He was. Perhaps this was just to replenish fluids.He returned to his chair by the bed and watched expectantly. Nothing happened. An hour passed. Still nothing. Two hours. Nothing at all. Collins was beginning to feel the burden of the past thirty-six hours. Sleep beckoned him. It was a call he was loathed to ignore. Finally, he gave in. Just as the first waves of relaxation overcame him, he observed something peculiar. Maj. Malone's briefs were becoming extremely tight around the hips and the elastic. Susan, now unable to see, heard him step softly behind her. Felt his hands grasping her hips, urging them high into the air?the warmth of his palms caressing her behind, as if testing the texture?a fingertip drawn lightly between her legs, making her gasp?the sound of his belt being lightly slapped against the palm of his hand?Oh, thank God, thought Susan, trying to restrain herself from wiggling her behind at him, certain he could see how wet she was.Then: the sound of his footsteps, moving.