" Hefollowed her order, leaning toward her and running his tongue along hers, pushingagainst her cheek with his, bending her head, rubbing his evening...roughnessalong her smooth skin, making her gasp. She put her palms on his chest and bent her head, taking one of his nipplesinto her mouth. She bit, lightly, then harder, and she reached her hand downto his cock and felt it start to harden. Smiling to herself, she moved to theother nipple. She backed away from him again and slowly removed her. They were two slim saplings that had been stripped of bark, sized for use, and sanded down. I’d tied a length of string to each pole and had attached a bone hook to the string. I baited the hooks and we tossed them into the water. I found us a nice spot to sit and chat while the worms drowned, and that is what we did. It was a large flat rock that jutted out into the lake. There was a bed of reeds on the upstream side of the rock and I had Gogra drop his line in there.We didn’t really talk much. ’She just laughed and then slapped me on my face with her foot ‘Then how come you are talking and not licking them?’“I am sorry Ma’am’ and I took my tongue out as far as I could and took a big long lick on the sole of her foot and I was all over her feet like a starving dog. Since I last licked her feet 3 hours back her feet had a little bit of dust from her walking. I swallowed it enjoying the taste. I wanted to lick clean and swallow every bit of lucky dirt that was on her divine feet.My. "Why?' asked Sarah."Roland Barthes wrote an extraordinary essay about beauty. He's a..." I'm familiar with French Postmodern philosophy."Vic looked delighted.Sarah glanced at the text Vic had been reading. Sartre. "Being and Nothingness" in French."You understand that?" she asked Vic."It's difficult. Barthes is such a lovely read, a real pleasure. Sartre may be difficult, at least this particular massive tome, but at least he tries to make sense unlike Foucault who seems to try not to. It's.