OK… Think. Where’d you put ‘em… Damn. Get the pants and shorts off. Dash to the closet. On the shelf – far left. Oh shit, hur...y. I don’t want to miss a second of this… Thankfully, Mrs. Fergusson seemed oblivious to anything but herself. Her hands were all over her body. Of course, one of my hands was on my dick while the other one held the binoculars up to my face. I used the slippery liquid oozing out of my pee hole to lubricate my foreskin while I focused. Butterflies were dancing in her belly – she was being so very, very naughty!A squirt of hot piss escaped her pussy flaps, spraying over the cushion creating a small glistening puddle that immediately began to soak into the fabric. After a moment, there was just a damp stain to reflect her deed. Suzanne giggled as she let load with her full need. Her pee hole opened, a fast flowing stream of clear urine flowing through the short distance to the cushion, droplets of spent pee dancing in the air. Das erste war ein altes, in Leder gebundenes Tagebuch mit einem abgewetzten Band darum, das den Deckel geschlossen hielt, das zweite war ein dicker Umschlag, auf dem mein Name, Melissa Gordon, in ordentlicher (wenn auch altmodischer) Handschrift stand. Der Brief darin war auf teures schweres Papier getippt, das ein Firmenwasserzeichen in der Mitte der Seite hatte. In dem Schreiben wurde erklärt, dass die Anwaltskanzlei von einem kleinen, unabhängigen Museum beauftragt wurde, das beiliegende. Standing on the other side of the door I listened as I heard her door squeak open and her call out my name again, “Bobby?” Opening the door I stuck my head out the door and asked her what she wanted. She asked me if I knocked on her door and I made up an excuse by telling her that I was going back to my room after my shower and tripped and accidentally hit the wall near her door. Accepting that bullshit excuse she said thanks and that she thought maybe she heard a burglar. I told her no and.