It was during those first few strops that he would still have time to dwell on the magic of a sound which reminded him of his early schooldays. He the...efore took advantage to contemplate those days in the classroom, hearing the noise of "The Whack" being dealt out in Form 5 next door. In like manner, his mind wandered to the present ridiculous situation, surrounded by four cellar walls and the knowledge that a muffled version of the same sound would be heard by the maid outside. He knew that. He leans his weight onto oiled palms and presses them up the length of her calves, passing back and forth, up and down, until the tension surrenders. He spends forever on her thighs, pushing hard and deep into pliant flesh, pushing his palms up over her cheeks and spreading them as he kneads. The way her body opens under his hands feels like a hopeful sadness with only one cure. Her skin is living silk. It makes his hands feel borrowed from some Olympian myth. His cock simmers and uncoils,. This is how he wants me to feel, reminded myself. Exposed. Ashamed. Desired. I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality and threatening the pins that held my thick auburn hair in a tasteful coil at the back of my head. Just then Pete Townsend entered the car, somehow squeezing his tall lean body through two layers of men to push up against my right side. I hate Pete Townsend. But I didnt bother pulling away as he brushed his hand against the back of my thighs, just below the hem of my. I argued that we would be much better off planning to pull over every 30 minutes or so in a highway lookout or rest-stop and make sure our overwhelming needs didn’t cause unsafe driving. I pointed out that between him and his 6’11” mountain-of-a- man physique hungering for me, and me and my 3-year- dry-spell- mountain-of-untapped-sexual-energy, we could at any point generate an explosion from our sheer proximity to each other. So really, one could say that I was arguing for the safety of.