After a while, both of her hands were on my shoulders and she was enjoying my rhythm at her pussy. She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to my c...mmand. I finally removed her bra to see her small melons, those were not too small, but just untouched to get swollen. Her breath was too high, and I was enjoying crushing tender breasts of a 19-year-old girl. I removed her wet panty and sucked her pussy, she was pushing her pussy to me, her aroma was making me crazy to have juice out of her. I know it sounds perverted but I just couldn’t get enough of her. Her name was Marla. Obviously, she wore the whole postal get-up with the blue shorter than usual shorts on a daily basis. Usually the post ladies when they wore shorts they would come to the knee, Marla’s came to the mid thigh and were very tight and revealing. She was African-American and had sugar brown skin.Her hair was usually in a ponytail or a bun, her hair was coarse and came to about her mid-back and her makeup was always. At first the light dazzled him but after a while of squinting, to cut down the rays, he managed to open them completely.He looked at the partly cloudy sky for an age before he began to make any sense of it. He then remembered details of how he came to be lying in the field.He tried to move first one arm, then the other. They were stiff and they ached but they seemed to be undamaged. His leg was harder to move, but eventually he managed to lift one knee, then the other. Again, despite the aches. It was hard for me to fathom.About ten minutes after Bethany had gone in, I was ushered into the room. The therapist, Doctor Fran Mercer looked to be about thirty-five, and seemed very friendly. She had me sit in a chair next to the one Bethany was in.“Steve, Bethany tells me she told you about what happened to her. Do you have any questions for me before we start?”“Only to know how I can help her.”“That is the question, isn’t it? It’s really the only question, but a lot of boyfriends ask.