He turns me around and gives my frontside his undivided attention. He massages my shoulders, my sternum and my tummy. But he leaves my breasts unatten...ed. This way he continues for about five minutes. I feel a little confused and moan dissatisfied. Hearing that he lifts my legs and starts massaging my legs until he reaches my back passage. “I will take you there”, he whispers. “You are liable for your clit yourself”. And with a well-known and masterful move he occupies my backhole with his. "To be honest, I don't know. I've never really thought about it, since I've never used one. I guess I just didn't need it; anytime we played on the chat program, it was enough for me to just let my fingers do the walking, and imagine you were here with me."I nodded, and she added, "Besides - now that I think about it, it would've been almost an admission of defeat, maybe. You were only going to be gone six months for chrissake, and I'd like to think that I could wait at least that long." She. She (or her husband) had obviously shaven the area a week or so ago, however it had started to grow back and I was presented with an excellent view of the black stubble which now covered her entire pubic area. It was not yet thick enough to obscure the sight of her labia lips which slightly protruded from within her tight cunt. I observed as she carefully dried herself between her legs and then continued down her legs placing one foot at a time on the bench in front of her allowing her crack. She drove around as far to the back of the building as she could. It was strange. She was nervous, but not necessarily about the interview. She was more nervous that someone would see her or her car. She was nervous that someone would see her or her car and ask her about it. Then she would have to make up a lie on the spot. And if she had to make up a lie on the spot, then she would stress endlessly over whether or not the lie went over. She didn’t need that stress. She’d have felt a lot more.