' I wear one pair of jeans and three t-shirts during the week. And my underwear, most of the time. At the end of the week, I change to my other pair o... jeans and remaining t-shirt and do laundry. That's all I have. There aren't any choices to make. I don't come home and try to decide what to watch on TV. I study what's been assigned that day and I sleep—or I go to work. At work, I do what people tell me to. I get the food they order on their table in a pleasant environment. I don't make. I thought about asking what was in the liquid he’d just poured onto me, but I could see he was all business and quite frankly, my pussy was pretty much calling the shots, so my brain slipped into second gear... He pinched my clit between thumb and forefinger again, pulling the sheath back as though it were a tiny cock, slowly at first, then increasing in pressure and speed until I was jerking against his hand. He pulled and jerked until I was almost coming. Almost. And then he stopped. My face. The usual couple of days of sorting followed, each in worlds of their own, each with a separate priority, the all consuming jobs round the new home occupying most of the hours, along with meals and sleep, the pool being under repair so that option was out, it wasn’t till the Friday that any real relaxing time really came about. They were sat in the conservatory, the evening meal over the lights of the distant seafront promenade twinkling as the light receded. They each had a drink in hand and. " Carol asked, "Do you think I would be good at it?" Misti answered, "YES!!! Besides, it will be fun for me to have a partner."They got up and went into one of the bedrooms that had been converted to a dance studio, with floor to ceiling mirrors on every wall. The floor was highly polished hardwood, and had been buffed until it had a mirror like finish. You could actually see your face from a standing position. Misti warned her to be careful because it was a little bit slick. Carol was.