Mrs. Somerset’s free hand caressed Erin’s head, then suddenly her fingers buried themselves in her short hair. “Ready?” Bridget asked, her voi...e breathless with impatience. Mrs. Somerset nodded, flexing her fingers. “Go!” The next moment was a blur. Before I could even properly brace myself for the first touch of the leather flap, Mrs. Somerset had swung it upward while pushing Erin’s head between her legs. A sharp, hot pain shot through the inside of my thigh, a hand’s width above my knee,. Phoebe will be useless for another 5-10 minutes. I check to restaurant door. It’s locked. Even if it was open, we cannot go back into the restaurant like this. I can’t put Phoebe back in a filthy, soaking wet dress. I only have 90 seconds left. What to do?I manage to get Phoebe into my ripped shirt. Only the bottom button remains. The shirt tails are enough to cover Phoebe’s dipping pussy. I manage to half carry Phoebe to the corner. By some miracle, I’m able to flag down a cab. He’s willing to. More

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