She was the angel that you read about in stories, the gorgeous woman who only appears in other peoples fantasies. Standing at my front door looking fo...lorn and a little disheveled, she was still a vision of loveliness. Her hair was dripping, and her mascara was running. She was soaking wet from the top of her long blond hair down across her fitted blouse, made see through by the rain, right down across her skirt and legs and to her petite bare feet with perfectly red painted toenails. Why she. Perhaps a small present, a trinket for on his desk. Other things. Over the years, I’ve gotten a lot of nice things from those who love me. Some of them remembered. Some forgotten. The old cliche fits so well, it is the thought that matters, not the gift. It is the thought that matters, not the gift itself. Yes, I repeated that on purpose. Here is a gift of giving. The giving of one’s self to another. Submission. Many argue it is not so. Not a gift but a selfish act. They are fools. I say to. I slide the shaft out a little, then, back in. Her smile widened, she panted in time with my stroked until her muscles tightened again. This time my balls were flooded by her juices. I rolled her back and again put my face between her legs and licked her wetness.Then, I plunged my prick back into her for a long as I could stand. I withdrew and put my shaft to her mouth, and finish the last strokes myself. My seed spat into her welcoming mouth until she choked with its volume. I left her and. ’ Jack offered one for me, but I declined. He held the temptation out, saying, ‘It’s a Montecristo…Hard to resist.’ Suddenly, Jackie piped in, ‘If Will doesn’t smoke it, I will.’ ‘A girl after my own heart,’ Jack opined, as he clipped the end for her. Jackie seductively leaned over the table, giving Jack a good view of her cleavage as he held the lighter for her. ‘Will, isn’t there something incredibly erotic about a woman who enjoys a good smoke,’ Jack said with a smile and a wink at Jackie..