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She could smell alcohol, cigarettes, and anger on his breath.He pointed a finger up in her face. “You do that shit on purpose,” he accused.Her heart dropped down and a little spasm of fear spread between her legs. He squinted and lowered his voice.“Take my fucking money?” He started to undo the buckle of his belt.“Please, Dean. Please.”He watched her while he took off his belt. He folded the thick black strip of leather in half and snapped it loudly. She jumped when it popped. He reached behind her and pulled the thick cushion off the couch and dropped it on the floor in front of her. He snapped the belt in her face again.“Kneel down!”She dropped to her knees and he pushed her over the cushion.“Put your arms up.” She whimpered and slowly put her arms up.Her leg muscles contracted, bracing for a hit. He brought the belt down hard and it smacked her squarely on the ass. The sting shocked her and she let out a painful yelp when the leather bit into her flesh.“Fuck! I’m sorry!”“Too. It was groovy to be climbing into the opened vee of her slender legs while her old man was watching, Eddie thought, and he made a slow, sensuous project of running his hands all over Isobel's arching frame.Cupping her tits, he drew his fingers tenderly down the tremulous length of her body, lingering along the slim thighs and finally delving between them to caress the marvelous softness of Isobel's pubic mound, fingering lightly there and knowing that the woman's husband was watching every movement. Eddie really dug that, and he glanced often at Clayton Zachary to see how it was registering. He saw Linda patting the guy's knee, saw Beth's generous breast nudging Clayton's upper arm, and he thought the man's pecker was beginning to lengthen a bit."Come on, Eddie," Isobel panted, "I need to be fucked, baby. Steer that beautiful young prick up into my aching pussy; feed me your meat, darling."Eddie cheerfully obeyed, crouching between her legs to guide his swollen cockhead down into her.
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Her arm will fall to rest on my ribs as she watches the gauge. I am sure she is merely using her hand to monitor my breathing, but her touch feels more like a caress, at least to my imagination. My imagination insisted that her advances were intentional. My ethics countered that it was incidental. The battle between the two was more agonizing than the physical therapy. I was both relieved and disappointed when my insurance ran out. To my horror and delight, Tanya suggested an elegant solution. By working as a volunteer at the hospital/clinic where her offices are, I had full access to the rehab facility after hours to continue on my own. I saw her fairly regularly, but she was no longer there to invade my personal space. Maybe life is like a brisk walk along the trails in an unfamiliar park. At every fork in the trail, you know each path will go somewhere interesting, but you can only see so far. Sometimes both paths look promising. How do I begin to describe Megan? First off, she is.

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