Believing it was not punishment enough for Skeeter to write the reports, he thought they should be published as well, the better to increase Skeeter's...public humiliation. Thus when readers turned to their Daily Prophet on a Saturday morning they were greeted by a new column, in which Skeeter's report was repeated verbatim, as if it were an article Skeeter wanted to share with the general public.Even Umbridge was not too thick to appreciate the irony in Skeeter's being pilloried in print, and by. As I knew I would, I had a small bruise on my ass cheeks. I looked at my pussy and it was dark red. I spread my lips apart and could see that I was still wet. I ran my finger through it and tasted it. Still buttery. There was a newness to my relationship with my husband. I felt like I had just fallen in love with him again. The look in his eyes when he was over me in the bed was burned into my brain. The lust and wanting that shown through was an instant turn on. I tried to rub my pussy in the. I responded similarly and realised my hand was on her firm breasts. We smiled at each other gently and then embraced in another kiss, this time our lips parting, tasting each other’s tongues for the first time. They danced to unheard music, twirling back and forth, side to side, exchanging fluids which I found very strangely arousing. Our lips never parted as our hands slowly explored each other’s physique. I reached down to her thighs, smooth, slender, soft. Brushing my hand on the inside of. Our minivan stopped before an unmarked garage door near the far southern end of the hotel, and Greg waited while the sectional panels crept upward. He drove in and parked, and soon two young women dressed in green jumpsuits began retrieving Alexis’ luggage from the back of the vehicle. “Greg says you want to interview me,” Alexis growled in his thick Russian accent as we exited the Toyota. “But, man, I’m fucking exhausted. Can we get together sometime tomorrow?” “Sure. Anytime you say.”.