What do you want
Is it sleek black stockings in high heels, or a warm hug? It started with a whisper, wine-red lipstick breathing into my ear at a crucial moment: "Eric, I don't want you to see Martha anymore." My hands were around her waist; she was sitting on my lap, squirming. Her green hazel eyes slithered over mine and her hand stole its way over my body, pausing over my ragged cheek before curling around my well-hidden cock. It was hard to breathe. "I don't want you to hang around Martha...