And she learned the further joys of this position as his hands could reach around to squeeze and caress her breasts, and better, dally on her clit. Oh... yes, she was so close. The rising tide of her own passion helped her notice his panting breath and the quickening of his strokes.She’d never had the sparkling stars that some women talked of when they had an orgasm, but the sensation now that sent heated blood coursing through her body right to her brain was wonderful. All the more, as she knew. She'd pillaged the fridge of my best Chianti and was drinking it straight from the bottle. She lit up one of her cheap Mexican cancer sticks, Delicados, I think they're called, and soon the room was reeking of acrid cigarette smoke and stale farts.She had thrown herself together a sloppy sandwich from the last of my good deli pastrami and managed to slobber imported mustard and barbecue potato chip crumbs all over herself and the chair. I'm proud of that chair. Cost me $15 at Goodwill. The last. More

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