I reached down, feeling for the bulge that would be chafing against his tight black jeans, my palm cupped the heavy weight, rubbing up and down so I c...uld feel his thickness grow at my touch, his mouth dropping passed my forehead where it had been rested to my lips, as I bit him with wanting he withdrew, demanding I wait, demanding a patience I didn't have. During the taxi drive home I was aching to be entered, I could smell the sex on myself, and so could he. I removed my thong with a gentle. If that was the case I'd wait until she had left the house then slip downstairs and turn on the computer spending some quality time alone with 'the ladies' as I used to call them. In my horny state it wouldn't take too long to stroke myself to a very happy ending; usually imagining sniffing their panties and tonguing their moist fannies - but I digress!Most times she was home and in bed. I could see her face in the mirrored wardrobe doors and I knew she was watching me undress and I could see. But the biggest surprise was not just that her dark bush was clearly visible through the tiny panties, but that she had trimmed the hair short and into the shape of a heart! When I saw that, my cock got even harder. It was obvious that the rest of the people saw it, too, by their whistles, catcalls and cheers. Susan was really enjoying herself as she put one leg forward and her foot between Toms legs so he could slip off her shoe and stocking. His trembling hands on her bare thigh made his. When Georgiev, that mad Russian producer, came round asking for ‘extras’ for a film ballet he was making, Mick was chivvied by the lads into volunteering. He soon got back into the old fitness routine. He was seen jogging everywhere and was often to be found in the old dance studio (a converted Industrial Ball Mill), practising ‘on the bar.’ He could be found with us, naturally, on rather fewer evenings in the Bar. Georgiev has always been a bit of a mystery, his work was all very.