By the time she arrived, my indignation at getting stood up again, and my fury with her for taking my paintings without telling me had all but subside..., and once again I was just glad to see her back safe. And her apologies were honest and effusive—evidently, some of her theatre friends had swept her off to the closing night of Anouilh’s Becket somewhere not too far away on St. Catherine Street. The director was going to need a dancer in his next production. It sounded like they hit it off. . Farkus knew he could put both his hands around her waist just barely not able touch finger tips. Her shoulders were in with room to spare letting him see soft smooth skin. She also had handful sized breasts. The pants were loose on her legs but he could tell they had curve to them, on top of being long.Farkus shifted uncomfortably as she set him with a hard look, no doubt for his staring at her so hard. He also shifted to pull the blanket he lay under over his body covering up a little more,. At the end he gave a second curtsey and then looked to herdesperately, seeking permission to at least lower his skirt.She understood and said firmly, "Abba, my little munchkin, you reallymust learn not to be overly modest. Maybe you should show our newfriends the OTHER feature of those delightful panties. Hmmm?"He pressed his lips together and shook his head, with fear in his eyes.It looked as if he might start shedding tears at any second. His wifetold him that, for his own good, to help. ” He was licking and I was bucking my pussy into his face. It felt so good and I couldn’t hold back anymore. “I’m coming. I’m fucking coming.” Mr. Wilson was drinking my pussy juices. He was lapping them up like a cat. “Get off the desk and get on your hands and knees.” I got off the desk and got on my hands and knees on his floor. Mr. Wilson grabbed my hips and slid his cock into my pussy. He pushed his cock into my creamy pussy and fucked me like a complete slut. He was grabbing my hair.