Then I saw Susan nod her head and scoop up the money. “What had she agreed to?” She slid her hands under her skirt and squirmed a bit. Then her ...ands slid out from under her skirt and down to her ankles. I watched as she worked her red thong over her heels. Then she held it in the air and threw it on the table. The men cheered and reached for it as if it were some kind of prize. I think I felt a little pre-cum squeeze from my cock. I was enjoying the fact that my wife was now sitting with. She had studied the map and Ramzy El-Najjar's tales of the hunts in past years, both successful and failed, and had developed with him a plan. It was a good plan, based on the successful ploy of getting behind the hunters and then following them. This made the dogs almost useless because their own and the horses' scents would conceal hers where she managed to stay close to them. While they were following the trail she had laid down earlier she would try to stay close behind them. The only risk. Mike Harold from Boston University went up against Lincoln Travis of UMass in a 120-pound match. I watched the two of them going at it. Mike Harold was a tall, slim guy. Travis was a bit shorter and more muscular. I watched them grapple on the mat. I saw them move around. I watched their movements. Mike Harold pinned his opponent in one minute twenty seconds. The gym exploded as people applauded. Mike went back to his seat. Many of us nodded respectfully. There were a couple more matches going. Fay had brought women home several times for them to fuck until they were all sated and exhausted. He opted to say nothing and simmered a little. "Oh, we've been working hard to settle in," replied Fay. "We're celebrating tonight, aren't we Jack?" "Oh yes, all done. Goodbye England, Bonjour France," added Jack finishing with a flourish of his glass, a toast and a smile. "Really?" asked Shelly. "Yes, it's final," replied Fay smiling, "I imagine our crate of stuff we are keeping is leaving Dover.