At the Sistine Chapel, it was all she could do to not attack every pretty girl she saw. Leslie wasn't Catholic, but all things considered, that really...wasn't the place to be having those kind of thoughts. It certainly wasn't going to help her with The Big Guy upstairs. And just what the fuck was Connie's problem, anyway? She'd given that dope the best sex she'd ever had, and this was how she was thanked? She'd put a lot of time and effort in getting Connie to put out, she'd expected a lot more. We can have our coffee together, here, before the others all turn up, then you can go get on with whatever you needed to do. I’m sorry, I – I just need to say something, and it’s hard to say.’ ‘Hmm? What?’ asked Denise, now soothed a little and more than a little intrigued. ‘It’ll wait until you’ve got your coffee, Denise.’ While Denise went to get her coffee, Elizabeth finished with Bob’s plants and sat down, after wheeling Stan’s visitor’s chair around to her side of the desks. Elizabeth. At least, he assumed she didn’t. He’d never actually seen for himself. He, of course, did not own any female undergarments. One didn’t have to be fucking Sherlock to deduce that these were Stacy’s panties. His sister’s panties. He was holding his sister’s sexy panties in his hand. “Jesus!” He exclaimed and threw the panties into the corner. Why the hell were Stacy’s panties under his desk? Sherlock tracked the clues back, putting the mystery together. The warm, wet chair. Using his computer. I confessed to Scott that I had only been with my husband sexually and lately I was curious about others. Eventually our conversation turned to fantasies and I confessed to Scott I had always wanted my husband to take control of the situation and have his way with me. Later in the evening he walked with me when I had to go to the ladies room. As I came out of the ladies room, Scott grabbed my hand and lead me into deserted hall way. Taking both my hands with his left hand, he pulled them over.