He smelled cooking coming from the kitchen at the back of the house and thought he heard someone moving around back there, the sounds of pots and pans... forks and knives.Peter stepped into the kitchen. He could feel the warmth of the stove on his face. "Ms Franklin?" he called again.The kitchen seemed to be empty. Peter walked around the kitchen table where various steaming dishes full of food had been laid out. He stood in front of the stove, scratching his head. There were two pots boiling on. Mexico didn't have a corner on the market for whores — there were plenty of them in our country, too. But the Mexican border-town whores were a sad lot. You knew they were going to be there, selling their ass cheap, for as many years as someone would be willing to buy it — at ever-decreasing prices. What you got for $20 this year would be worth, maybe, $10 a couple of years down the road.It might have felt good, getting off with that young brown girl under you, but it didn't take long,. She let its heavy weight smack back down to the floor, swallowing me into the blackness below. How long was she going to keep me like this? Watching her there squat next to me, fiddling with the lock, I had the dreadful sense that I was not getting out anytime soon.Click!A chill of terror rose through me as the locking mechanism snapped into place. Dominique glanced over at my head bobbing out of the floor beside her feet and smiled. There was less for her to think about now. My naked body,. His eyes looked a little frightened, like he half expected her to pull out a **** whistle and start blowing. But she just smiled back.Encouraged, he redoubled his stroking while glancing from her face to her pussy to her face and so on. His obvious appreciation sent a wave of arousal through her, so she paused to pull her dress up even higher, giving him a full view of her hips. They were good hips for a woman turning forty; let the gentlemen enjoy the show."Mmm," he moaned as he slowed his.