The third set of six strokes were duly delivered. I was screaming, and there in front of me was Miss Dean masturbating. I could smell her juices. Agai... a short break before the final set of six. At least I knew what was coming. I knew the intensity of pain I had to endure. Finally, the twenty-fourth stroke hit home, just as hard as the first stroke. I flopped down on the bench, breathing heavily. My bottom was on fire. Thank goodness it was over. Then, horror! Miss Dean moved the chair right up. Besides, there's an unpleasant term for men who do what I've just done. It's called stalking. Most women don't seem to find this sort of attention appealing.During my drive I must have thought of a hundred reasons why this trip was a really stupid and bad idea. Many of the reasons were even good ones. On the other hand, I had just one reason on the plus column — I just needed to see her again. I just felt that I'd never be complete in my heart until I had found her once again, just one more. More

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