The thingsI want to keep can be set aside and then anything left can be donated.I will give you a key and you can come and pack things up while Sylvie...nd I are at work and school. I think it will be less traumatic forboth Sylvie and me that way."In the evening on Monday after Sylvie went to bed I went into our roomand went through our, now my, closet and dresser, and makeup table andnight stand looking at the possessions that had been Megan's. It was sohard. I wanted to pick out some things. When we got to our tattoo shop in which we new the artist quite well as we had being getting work done there for several years so we had a good rapper with all in the shop we spoke to the artist we wanted and he looked a little shocked so did a few other people in the shop as she didn't ask quietly .he asked us to come into the back office to get more details and when we told him what we wanted he said the same thing as me about the position she would be in ,she laughed and said it was fine so. “What are you?” “This whore is a whore, Sir!” “Where do whores get fucked?” “Whores get fucked in the ass, Sir!” As she answered that, still pleading with her eyes, I pushed it down into her ass. As I slowly slid the thick dildo down a bit further, she exclaimed, “This whore loves getting fucked in the ass, Sir!” “Where did you ask if I wanted to fuck, though?” I asked with the same heated calm. “This whore's pussy, Sir.” she answered apologetically. Immediately after she said the word 'pussy',. She wonders which of them craves getting off more.The young woman jostles in her seat, fighting the heat rising beneath her skin. She shoots a burst of glances around the carriage—seemingly conscious she's becoming publicly aroused. Tense, Aria's hands clasp in a ball over the front of her skirt, pressing down towards the warmth. She imagines the young woman's thighs gliding past her ears and her face colliding with that pink stripe. With a stiffened tongue, she stuffs the flimsy material.