She looked at us like “come on, support me….”. And we looked, I guess, like wtf happened? At least that’s what I felt and Anette and Linea loo...ed like they had the same thought in their heads. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to be the “bitch” starting a fight or argument with Tine like I always got blamed for. She was the type who never ever was wrong. But we all knew she was wrong, way wrong. Her father would have loved some appreciation for being a good father. Just for once in his. As she wiped my tears away with her thumbs she stared deep in my eyes. My crying had stopped but the deep erratic gasping for air was persistent. She kissed me softly. Then she pulled away, sitting herself upright and lightly patted her hand on her lap. For the first time I realized she was not wearing panties. I placed my head on her lap. Where her soft and smooth skin ended the uneven lace at the top of her stockings began. The smell of her perfume and her sex intertwined. My heart. Rubbing a hand slowly around each taut buttock, Gina showed the first signs of animation and need. She threw her head back and cried, “YESSS, please play with them. STOPPPPP teasing me PLLEEEAASSE!!. Taking pity I dropped down and started kissing, then licking all over her soft heavenly buttocks. My hands roaming all over their skin, bringing the cheeks together for a gentle slap or pinching lightly, before moving to another area. Always moving, never still for more than a few seconds, she was. My lust – and it is lust - to see young men handled in this stark fashion, is undiminished. I am careful to restrict myself to four of five shows per year. Any more, and it would indeed become a production line. The passageway floor is bare concrete. My boots are heavy leather. The sound of my purposeful strides ricochets off the bare walls. The occupant of cell number one will have heard my approach well before I arrive at the door of his place of captivity, and fiddle for the key. All quite.