Clare raised her hips without any hesitation or resistance and rested her arms on her desk. I pushed her chair out to my right hand side with one powe...ful nudge of my foot and positioned myself behind her. Her blonde hair wrapped around the back of her neck as I readied myself to take her there and then. I caressed her back, feeling the light material beneath my fingers and the ridges of her supportive bra. Clare remained bent from the waist with her head high and her back straight. She moved. You closed your eyes as you sighed and wished I wasn't so far away. All fantasies aside, you really did need your driveway cleared.A sound outside made you open your eyes. Had minutes or just seconds passed? You glanced at the fireplace and noticed the fire was still burning...it couldn't have been too long. You heard the sound again over the quiet crackling of the fire...footsteps in the snow coming toward your front door. They stopped, and then a gloved hand rapped softly on the heavy. The predictability of her husband Claude spearing her bum-hole on her return was so certain that she assumed her usual position face down on his grandmother's bed taking his fat weight on top of her naked body with resigned tears of frustration. She knew she owed duty to her husband but deep in her heart she felt he was abusing her trust by insisted she present him with her tiny private hole like some floozy greeting sailors returning from a long voyage.She stumbled from the grand bedroom suite. “Sure do! You ought to see me. I’ve got this gray skirt suit, you know, short skirt, fitted jacket. I wear a black bustier under it and some black stockings, the type where they can just get a hint of the elastic at the top, and some black fuck-me shoes. I specialize in stag parties and picking up men on business trips. You would not believe the tips!”The women laughed at Soupy’s description, but not in disbelief. Lauren’s friend was short but not petite, being very curvy. Her husband.