The knife was sharp and sliced effortlessly through her tender skin – six times. He carved three parallel lines down the centre of each cheek. It wa... his trademark. One of them. Each would heal into a thin red ridge. But before it healed it would hurt, and John had this down to a science. There was a point to this. The cunt was becoming an it. A thing, a piece of meat. She was screaming and begging and no one was acknowledging it. Until eventually she got the message and fell quiet, settling. “So I guess the moral of my story is that you shouldn't smack a cop on the ass.” He blushed a little at this last bit. He never swore around her, but whenever he slipped she delighted in teasing him about it. “Really, on the Ass.” she made sure to emphasize the word. He blushed all the more and looked away from her. Seeing his guard down she tousled his hair and laughed as he jumped away from her. “Come on! Your hands are covered in mud!” “So is your hair,” she said with a wicked grin. He. Of course. As high as you can, to show off those shapely legs, but not so high that you cannot walk elegantly. At my suggestion, she kept the new dress on and carried a shopping bag containing her skirt and blouse, and headed for a shoe shop that she knew. I was amused to see the young man who measured her feet, then brought out shoes in her size for her to try. He kept looking up at her except that his eyes never got any higher than her pussy, which I knew he could see from his position at her. He said he should leave right now. I told George not to leave and that I was very flattered that a nice young man like him would find me sexaully attractive. George seemed releaved. I told him I could help him since I caused him the problem and I started to rub the bulge in his shorts. My pussy was burning now and I wanted this boy. George sat back on the vanity still unsure about what was happening. I rubbed his cock thru his shorts and acted as sexy as I could then started to kiss him..