Always, she’d been taken dry, unprepared, almost as if John had enjoyed her tight, sometimes bleeding grip, as if he’d relished the suppressed whi...pers of pain, the salt of her tears as she’d struggled- not with John… she’d have been beaten, and it’d have been worse- but with herself, to keep from shoving him away and bolting for the nearest suicide weapon. ‘OOOHHH,’ she gasped as she matched her stride with his, bucking, rolling her hips, her body tightening and rippling wetly along his hard. He would have a hard time explaining to Jeanette why he stunk of beer and cigarettes in the middle of a work week. They had been served some bad sandwiches at what were undoubtedly inflated prices, but since he was the ‘guest of honor,’ he wouldn’t see the bill. The sound level was increasing as the first of the headliners appeared. He managed to finish his sandwich and sat back in the chair to watch what the so-called premier performers had to offer. It was a case of more of the same with. My eyes could see more clearly now, and I noticed that the blanket covering her lap had movement underneath. I also noticed one of her hands had reached inside her jacket to allow her fingers to manipulate her nipples, squeezing and tugging the now-hardened little bullets.Though trying to be discreet, I couldn't stop the gasp from my mouth.Her head popped up off my shoulder, the movements in her lap ceased. She looked at me, red-faced, with just a hint of a smile. "I'm so sorry," she whispered,. Slightly horrified upon reflection, she sighed and committed herself to making amends later that day. She only hoped that she hadn’t embarrassed herself too greatly, and that no one else had heard. Hopefully, young Tristan would take pity on his poor, horny Aunt and say nothing to his mother. She had just exited her suite, dressed in sandals, Capri pants, and a relatively low-cut blouse, when she heard a honk from the steps below. It was a smiling Tristan, perched atop his shiny Lambretta.