She is dressed in ajacket, skirt, and a pristine white blouse. Altogether, she projects aprecisely manicured image, svelte and professional. Her na...e is Dr Helen Rose. She is holding a folder. "Fascinating." She half-mutters to herself. That single word breaks the stiflingsilence between her and her stoic guide, who had so far resolutely limitedhis communication to grunts and hand gestures. The man snorts, betrayinghis cynicism. "You're not the first, Doctor. There's been others. "We need gel," I say. "No," he says, "we like it rough. We're purists, nothing but Afro-American saliva to lubricate our passion." "Please," I say. He's still holding still, the pain is subsiding slowly. "How do you feel," he asks after an eternity. "Better," I say. "I'm in by three inches, five more to go." I wiggle my butt. He slaps it casually. "More spit," I plead. "OK, he says, but it'll hurt again." He exits, spits some more spit onto his dick. Another thrust, another painful. “Well, you see Anne. I am perfectly aware that your paper was not plagiarized. However, you have caused other problems.” His hands began to move in an effort to release the tension in my shoulders. “I have seen the way you look at me, the lingering looks, I’d be stupid not to know.” His hands continue and slowly tease at the straps of my top. “You see, Anne, I always admired your sweet ass, nothing like my wife’s.” His fingers grazed across my collarbone before trailing up to my jaw. My. I nibbled a bit on her earlobe and she squirmed beneath me.Her hands were running along my body, touching lightly here and there. It caused my flesh to rise as much as anything else. I reached up and gently turned her head toward me. Our lips met and a spark of passion ensued. Hungrily our tongues dueled together as our excitement grew. My hand was caressing her hip and it moved toward her center.Gently my fingers explored her womanhood. I caressed the nub at the top of her slit and she.