An older lady next door called and said "Hi, are you one of his friends?". John hesitantly replied that he was. The lady smiled as if to say, "I'll be... you are." John proceeded nervously up the stairs to the front door and rang the bell.The door opened to a man maybe several years older than himself and of a similar build. The man had a satin robe wrapped around him while popular music played on the stereo in the background. John was still in a daze, as if hypnotised when the bloke told him to. Any guy knows that. Hands tell the story. A guy knows in ten seconds what a girl is wearing or is not wearing. One quick accidental slide and he knows. I knew.She even told me that her mother had told her what to wear so "NOTHING" would happen.Up top, the same. Padded bra so there could be no feeling, then a t-shirt covered with a blouse and topped off with a sweater, turtle necked to boot.She was locked up like "Fort Knox." I wonder if she did ever get "Knoxed Up?"Of course, the contradiction. I can taste your nectar; these long hours have had the same effect on you as they have had on me. My tongue finds your swollen clit, I suck it between my lips. My lips hold your clit firmly in my mouth as my tongue starts to vibrate against it. I slip one finger inside you, then a second, soon I have three fingers sliding in and out of you. I can feel your muscles begin to contract, I can see them start to spasm. Your orgasm begins to grow, you start to breathe heavy, stronger and stronger. One day we happened to meet in the foyer to the restrooms when with a conspiratorial leer and wink he slipped me a folded piece of paper. I locked myself in a cubicle and read while my stream hissed noisily into the commode:Good girls get kissed. Bad girls get spanked. And you are very good at being bad.Oh, gosh! How did he guess my secret fantasy? My husband was nice and considerate and thoughtful, but just once I’d like someone to take charge of me, to be rough with me, to bend me squirming.