His eyes didn't leave my breasts as he replied, "Turn around and place your hands on the car." Wait! What? You're arresting me?" I stammered."Please M...ss." he answered.I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was going to arrest me. Turning around I placed my hands on the roof of the car.He stepped up behind me and starting from my wrists he ran his hands along my arms and down my sides, all the way down my legs to my ankles. Despite my annoyance at my plan not working goosebumps exploded. “How can I get the money?” But then out of nowhere, she did something. It was something odd and unusual. She put a hand on his and looked deep into his eyes. He didn’t know why for sure. But it did feel good. He knew that for sure. So he said it. He said something which she didn’t expect at all. “So do you enjoy sex, romantic sex that is?” It shocked her, at first. Yes, she’d thought about that, but no, she dropped that idea as soon as she thought about it. “Umm, what are you asking me, Peter?”. Around us the conversation and the meal continued, we even contributed to the chatter, but I became increasingly aware of the slow rise of Ian's hand up my thigh and increasingly thrilled by his touch.The thrill I was feeling shot to a new high when I felt another hand slip through the other slit and start to stroke my thigh firmly. Eyebrows raised in surprise I looked at Gary, he gave me a wink without breaking the flow of his conversation. I could not believe that this was happening; my best. Maybe it’s the guilt of knowing I’m not normal, the humiliation of knowing I can’t do that. It’s also maybe the worry of ever being expected to ‘perform’ – though it’s highly unlikely any girl would even consider that, unless it was for money I guess, or charitable.No, I love being a wanker and wouldn’t want to change, and I love it when girls know I’m a wanker. I love the sense of delicious guilt and shame and humiliation – “just pathetic, you wanker!” I particularly love it when a girl knows.