I made a cup of tea and we sat down in the lounge next to each other on the sofa.She was a brunette in her mid 40s, about 5 feet 5 and she had a prett...ness about her face and eyes when she smiled. Her figure, which I had noticed on previous occasions, was nice, curvy but slim.Katya gave me a very supportive talking to, telling me that I am handsome, intelligent and saying that it was good riddance and now I could make a fresh start. It was getting late, about 1 in the morning and although I did. The booths were uncharacteristically large, each one being U-shaped, with an oddly small table in the center. The booths were raised off the floor about 6 or 8 inches, and seemed heavily padded in the naugahyde style. Most were occupied by four or five black men, and one, sometimes two women. I say sometimes, because I noticed that every now and then, a woman's head would appear up above the top of the table after being noticeably absent for several minutes, and she'd sit back up on the. “But that’s different.” “Why?” “She’s my wife,” he answered. “And do you like watching her,” I ask. “Of course I do.” “So what’s the difference?” Hearing the question he looked into my eyes, gave the broad smile of a small boy and answered somewhat reluctantly. “It’s a sex game we now play,” he grinned with his eyes closed. “Because while watching her play with herself; I’m instructed to stand by the side, of the bed, and masturbate until shooting my load over her rather petite tits.” “Oh,” I. First she’d started playing with herself at night. Then she’d started stroking her throbbing clit during class under her desk. Then she’d gone to the school bathroom and used anything---the back of her glue bottle, her notebook, her spit-slobbered fist—to rub her aching clit and push into her soaking wet cunt. Jeanne didn’t know what was wrong with her. She tried to ask her friends casually if they had to bring extra panties to school. Was she the only one who orgasmed during history class.