An anachronism, a dim and musty niche of knick-knacks and old things. I loved the place, I liked the atmosphere, I loved browsing it's shelves and old...artifacts. I also liked teasing and flirting with the owner's wife. Her husband was as old and fusty as the shop itself; his wife was, well, unexpected. For a start she was from continental Europe, Dutch, if the accent was anything to go by. He was in his sixties if not seventies, she was much younger, perhaps late forties. No matter, she dressed. A cloud of incense hung in the air. Knick-knacks of varying price and quality lined the shelves. "I guess I don't have to tell you why I'm here...?" she asked the woman."Nope." The woman's voice had an unexpected Southern twang."Your price?"The woman smiled.---"Princess!"I heard someone shouting down on the street so I unlatched the window, lifted it up, and stuck my head out. Some old lady, calling out for..."Princess!" Mowrr..." I banged the top of my head on the window as Selina suddenly. As he pushed against them, the elastic opening yielded, and his cock sank into her pants. It slid through her panties, past her already-most pussylips, and into her warm wetness. Her buttocks settled down onto him. He held her tightly, and bounced her slightly with his knees. The real action wasn't visible to Deirdre. The design was working. He was deep inside Cheryl, and both had their clothes on. They came, with the usual noises, and Cheryl got up, the opening in her jeans closing tightly. Luckily there were only three days left in that first week. Courtney resisted as I had figured she would but she really needed a drink. Stopping drinking cold turkey is hard but as far as I am concerned the only way to go.I had removed all of the alcohol from the house in anticipation so when she started begging for some, my answer was no. Then by a coincident an old movie came on television staring Dick Van Dyke. It was called Cold Turkey and every time he wanted a cigarette he made love to.