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She laid down, pulling him back down on top of her. He was still fingering her. She was going wild from the teasing. He was going slow, so she couldn’t cum, but every time he pushed his fingers back inside her he pressed on g-spot.“Please,” she finally moaned, moving her hips again when he pushed inside again so his fingers would hit her clit harder.“Please what?” he asked with a sly grin.“Damien,” she said, kissing him again. Then she pulled away. “Please.” She kept kissing him, pulling away, and begging him more.“What do you want, Jenna?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what it was.“I need you,” she breathed, she was trying not to let him know how crazy he was making her by slowly fingering her, but it showed in her eyes. “I want to make love to you, Damien. Please, please, fuck me. I’m going crazy. You’re making me crazy. I swear, I’m right on the edge.” by the end of her last sentence, she was moaning.“Are you a virgin, Jenna?”She shook her head. “I’ve only had sex once,”. Having said that, I had a particular fetish for black cock. Big, small, it was irrelevant. Black cock was my fantasy. Uncut would only be icing on the cake. You see, I'd never seen a real live uncut cock in my life. Not even on high school locker rooms after gym class.Anyway, I finished drying off, dressed, and left. I could say that was it, but I'd be lying. I thought about that black cock on the way home, and the next day. I couldn't get it out of my mind. I wish I'd said something to him, but, I probably would have gotten myself beat up, and never be able to return to that gym. You never know how things might turn out.The following evening, I went to the gym a little earlier. I finished my workout, showered, and as I was leaving, ran into the same guy as the night before.He looked at me, smiling. "Leaving already?" he said "I thought you might be back tonight. Maybe we'll run into each other again." And he continued into the locker room.My head was swirling. What did he mean? Was.
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Of course, there’s also the other possibility – that Catriona Hamsun was motivated by some other darker urge than mere self-preservation. On examining David’s clothing (a tatty, dark grey suit and long black coat) for clues to HIS identity, Catriona discovered a hefty bundle of English twenty pound notes. Guilt or fear have prevented her counting these but there is certainly enough cash there to provide a motive for murder. Is this what happened? Did Catriona Hamsun lure this poor, middle-aged gentleman into the warehouse – perhaps on the pretext of companionship or ‘easy sex’ – then callously shoot him through the heart? No matter how hard Catriona stares into his eyes, she can find no answers to these questions. The man’s blue face seems to hold no trace of his dying thoughts, no clue, no meaningful epitaph, no hint of an emotion – fear, surprise or anger – that might help solve the mystery. He is DEAD. That’s it. Lifeless. There’s nothing left of the person he once was. Catriona.

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