She fancied she could see something familiar in the way the man moved, the look in his eyes stirred distant memories. Lucy constantly had to crush the...desire to rush out into the street and confront the man, but for a lady of her position to converse with a lamplighter was out of the question. She steadfastly resisted temptation, but at what a price. Each night when she went to sleep she would dream about Henry Stocks and how happy she would have been as his wife. In her waking hours she knew. She had to be touched, down there, down between her thighs on the lust-burning slit of her already lewdly moistened cunt. She had to touch herself there, if necessary, or even better, she had to be touched by Skip.Suddenly Jennifer wriggled free of the groping youngster and pulled back, staring narrow-eyed down at his questioning face. "Listen, Skip," she gasped. "Listen. Let's sit down on the couch for a minute and pull ourselves together and then..." Then what?" Then..." Somehow in spite of. His own want had made itself self-evident in the jutting form of his rearing cock that throbbed at a forty-five degree angle from his loins. Just as his taunting torment of pleasure had aroused this red-headed bundle of new found sensual yearnings, it had also brought his desire to a full, blood-gorged head. He savoured the dominance he had over her willing young body. He thrilled at his power to bring her to submissiveness."But I'm here and you have me," he teased even further. "What do you. Do you want anything?" he asked."No thank you," she said. She rolled over onto her back and placed her hand on her cunt, caressing the soft, blonde hair. Her marriage was not going well, she thought. She could not quite put her finger on the problem.Perhaps, they were bored with each other.Perhaps, they were just bored with the everyday routines of living together-waking up in the morning, eating breakfast, Alan going to work, coming home from work, eating dinner, going to bed, getting up again.
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