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This time, it's not 'ladies first'." And I saw the wicked grin onher face. The devilish light in her eyes. She looked at me, then lookedover to where his cock lay across his thigh, slick with their juices.The fear, the worry. I had never done such. Not with him. I had neverdone anything with him other than enjoy polite conversation and hope hewouldn't bring up my status and discuss what I was to his wife openly. Ifelt so ashamed. But I knew I had no choice. It's what she wanted. Andwhat Mistress wants of me, she gets. But deep down, I knew it was what Iwanted as well.Unable to look him in the eyes, I crawled towards his cock. As I movedcloser, I tried focusing on nothing but his cock and balls, shiny fromtheir love. I tried hard to put out of my mind who this was. Myoverwhelming shyness threatening to make me freeze, I tried to ignorethat this was her husband. I tried to forget that there was even a manattached to the cock that pleased my Mistress so well.I had some measure of. But never with a North Indian.It was 5.15 already. I was rock hard. She, too, was welcoming me with such talk. I went and sat next to her and, without saying anything, kissed her on her cheek. She turned her other cheek towards me. It was clear now that she, too, wanted it.I kissed her on her cheek and straight away landed my lips on hers. It was first soft, and then the kissing got more intense. It grew wild. Tongues were playing with each other. I placed my hand below her shirt and caressed her waist seductively.We kept kissing. We were in the hall, and she broke the kiss and said, “Bedroom, please.” Once inside, she quickly unbuttoned my shirt. Soon, my trouser too. She pushed me onto the bed and jumped on me, kissing my lips wildly.She then moved on to my chest, kissing the nipples and then to my stomach. She was feeling my hardness over my underwear. Suddenly, without warning, she pulled down my underwear as I let out a loud gasp.She held my hardness in her hand and looked at me.
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‘You’re welcome.’ ‘Always prepared, aren’t you. Were you an Eagle Scout?’ ‘No, I’ve always been more of a Beaver Scout.’ Her legs were striped with welts from the brush along the path. Tom frowned at the evidence of his neglected responsibility. He dipped a hand in the water and then, with the flat of his palm, cooled the marked flesh. She moaned as goose pimples spread up her thigh. ‘Too cold?’ Tom asked. ‘No, it’s very soothing.’ ‘These marks will be gone by tomorrow. Sorry, I should’ve picked an easier route.’ Willow lay back on the boulder. ‘I’d rather be an ugly, scarred survivor than a cute cadaver. None of that, die-young-and-leave-an-attractive-corpse, bullshit for me.’ And then in a tone that sounded almost regretful, she added, ‘I owe you my life,’ and began to play with her braid. ‘Ugly?’ Tom said, and boldly ran a cool palm up her inner thigh until it touched denim. ‘You’ll never be ugly, Willow.’ She shivered. In a soft baritone, Tom sang, ‘Did I ever tell you you’re.

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