“Well, here we are,” he said. “Just you and the fuckin’ canuck. Hey, I was wondering: which team is better, the Flames or the Stars?” “Go ...uck yourself,” Sandrine answered. “I’ve been through nine. One more isn’t going to make any difference. Stars rule. Flames eat shit.” Victor didn’t answer. He opened his shirt and took his pants and underwear down and displayed his dick. There was a mumble of conversation back in the living room, and someone said, “Holy shit, Victor, you got a permit for. It seemed easier to respond than put up with the barrage of his questions. Yes, I was going to Vegas to meet a boyfriend. No, I had not been there before. No I did not gamble and nor did my boyfriend. ‘Who was I kidding I loved to gamble but I did not know if my date did!’ I found myself lying to this stranger when there was no need to lie. My traveling companion waffled on and on, his questions an inane babble, but it helped pass the time and kept me from thinking about the first meting. ‘No. I tried to push my tongue deep into her throat but could not. Instead I moved it around her tongue and she also did the same and enjoyed it. I felt her hands on my breasts moving in a circular motion and gently pinching my nipples. As I moved my face to kiss her shoulders, she undid the buttons of my blouse and took it off. She started kneading my boobs again without removing my bra, occasionally licking on the cleavage. I could understand she is fond of doing it. I rolled to my back on the. I believe she was flattered by my penis’s approval. Ok, the affair. As I said, it was brief, and here is how it started. One Saturday morning, Sharon was the morning hostess (we were a small store, and for most of the time is was just the manager and a hostess, with an extra host and cook for dinner hour. Sharon was upset. I assumed it was from something that happened the night before, perhaps a date gone wrong. And since the hostesses were often upset, I let it pass. But this morning, as I.