Ginny and I had got along very well – almost too well, considering I was involved with her favourite niece. Now, the situation was different, less c...mplicated.We chatted about her book, a 1970s woman-has-views-on-sex novel called Fear of Flying, which she had read several times before and I had enjoyed years ago.“Yeah, I do that too,” I said. “It's like listening to an album; just because you've heard it before doesn't mean you can't enjoy it again. In fact, that's the reason you go back to it. Suddenly he is there with it, stroking your clit with the crop first then a hand to massage it, working it with His fingers. He knows he is sending you over the edge, and that He has not told you to come whenever you wish to. you strain to withhold the huge orgasm from escaping your being. “please Master…may I cum?” you beg of Him, in short choppy breaths. “not yet my little slave…not yet” He stops after 2 more flicks against your red clit, knowing He will send You over the edge with any more. There was no sense in making big fancy dinners when you eat by yourself all the time! And she never went out to dinner - first because she really couldn't afford it, but also because she didn't own a car. And she would have been too shy and timid to go out by herself anyway.After they finished dinner, he paid the check and then went to get the car while she waited by the door for him to pull up. He pulled up and got out of the car to help her in. He folded up her umbrella and then closed her. After paying the driver, we walked up the gravel drive to the enormous house that Sir Paul shared with his wife and daughter."I should have worn a coat," Vanessa complained. "I'm fucking freezing."I put my arm around her and rang the bell. Paul's wife Mary answered the door almost immediately."Come in, come in," she beckoned. "It's so cold out."Vanessa's teeth were chattering.Lights blazed in the large entrance hall and we followed Mary into a beautifully furnished lounge where Sir Paul, the.