Every morning on waking I am to send her a text message to wish her good day. Every night on retiring I am to send her a text message to wish her good...night. She may choose to reply to these messages but I should not ordinarily expect her to do so.I may not otherwise initiate communication with her, except when required to request her permission or inform her of any impediment in fulfilling my obligations towards her. It’s onerous, with much to remember. But she foresaw that of course, with. Mobs have taken it over mostly and they compete as they always have. The only thing that has really changed is the merchandise. From drugs to flesh, and not prostitution, or I should say not just prostitution. They always did prostitution but sometime in the late 2020?s they figured out that they could earn more by gathering up the homeless and using them for free labor. Then, someone a tad more unscrupulous thought that people would make better slaves if they were trained to it, in. That's where I like to flash. No one can see me, except for my intended voyeur, the one that was going to get to see my hard, throbbing cock exposed to their gaze. A young hard-bodied woman was jogging toward me, and I was ready. As she ran along, I took my shirt off and left it behind a bush. As she approached, I glanced around. Not a soul could see us from any angle. I pulled my shorts down to my ankles and began stroking my cock. I was already hard as a rock, but I thought it would. "Evenings not over yet," I teased and kissed her.I could see the taxi driver's eyes looking at us in his mirror and I couldn't blame him one bit. Clare was in her prime, her jutting 'd' breasts almost bursting out of her low cut dress and her nylon encased legs seemed to stretch for ever from under her short skirt. With my arm around her for support we climbed the stairs up to our master bedroom. On the bed was a big box with a silk ribbon around it finishing with a big bow."Oh more pressies,".