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So believe me, you are exactly as I described you." Thank you Sir. I won't argue the point with you, especially not in here." Smart girl. You may relax your arms, they must be on fire by now. You can put them anywhere, except your body. If you put your hands on the body that I own, without permission. You will have welts on that ass of mine, with clear orders given to Amy to make you show them where and to whom she sees fit. I think she would love that little power trip. Do you understand, slave girl?" Yes Sir!" Good girl."As I stood there, looking down at her, I must admit that the Demon was screaming in my ear,"Just take her, and as she said, "pound her ass into the mattress"! C'mon man, you have teased me with this gorgeous piece for awhile, now. Just take it!"I know that sounds crazy, but I call the "Man" part of me, The Demon. What I mean by the "Man" part, is where we as men, could care less what the female feels or wants.All we know is we have been given a green light to fuck. It was said he refused to take mistresses for fear he'd be betrayed by one of them. It was an understandable position in light of the 1938 purge of the Military by Stalin and his NKVD head Beria. Many top men had had their mistresses forced to spill the beans on them.She'd never felt happier than when she was flying alongside John. He reminded her of a boy showing off in front of his friends. She remembered, back in Novgorod, how he used to fly so close to her that he almost touched her wingtip and he'd flash her cheeky grins. It was almost as if he was saying, 'here I am. Bet you can't do this!' It was so boyish, so immature and unprofessional, but she knew he was in complete control all the time. John Greenhaugh knew exactly what he was doing in the air at all times, of that she was sure.His sheer joy at being in the air, his childlike cheek and impertinance, his capacity to ignore instructions and standing orders if he saw fit, were some of the things that attracted her. Not to be.
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We gave that one away when we moved.’ ‘Is that where you’ll be when we do it again?’ She stopped to look at the sofa, then turned in the direction of the bedroom, and said, ‘Yeah. Probably.’ He walked to the patio door and looked out on the pool. ‘I want to watch you swim in the pool.’ She started to ask why, but said nothing as she went over to stand close to him. ‘Will you go in with me?’ ‘No. I just want to watch. Get a mental picture.’ She thought of a new little see through she bought in Italy but had been too shy to wear in front of her friends. ‘It is still a little cool, but I’ll get a suit.’ ‘No. I want to see you swimming nude.’ She studied his expression. He glanced at her and smiled. She wanted him to screw her hard—in her husband’s bed, in the living room, in the kitchen, in the shower, on the floor, right here, right now. He seemed remote, as always. She wanted him to at least touch her. He made no move toward her. She slipped out of her dress without moving away from.

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