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Daddy continues his light grazing touch along your other arm. Then his cool wet finger moves across the gentle swell of the top of your breasts. He ...lowly moves along the inside swell, then the outside swell, skirting the edge of the fabric of your bikini top. You continue to groan quietly as his touch continues to excite you. He pulls his hand a way and then fishes an ice cube from his drink. You look up at him, a bit apprehensive over his next move. His hand without the ice cube, reaches. I had, by now, been in many of the local trainers' offices. I had to admit that Ben's was the neatest of the lot. I did have to say, though, that Jean spent a lot of time in there dusting and polishing (just as she did in the rest of the house), which was a major factor. The woman was the whirling dervish of the dust and polish rags. I moved to the chair that stood beside the desk and sat, just as Jean came into the room with two Irish coffees.The woman looked as concerned as Annie had when she. She was the cruelest one by coming up with disturbing and fuck up things to do to you. You didn't know what she did for a living in your old hometown, but you didn't care enough to find out. The atmosphere around her still gave you goosebumps.You fumble your way upstairs to your cozy one-room apartment. You walk inside yanking off your pizza joint uniform. You put on a standard black t-shirt with your black slacks. Your regularness on full display as you hops onto your couch/bed.You began to. She wouldn't do that. Not after last night. She was so happy.On my nightstand was a piece of notebook paper covered in crisp writing. I picked it up, my hands shaking as I read her flowing, cursive script:Dearest Lucy,Tonight was the happiest night of my life. I never felt more loved than I had tonight. It was a sweet dream.But it is time I woke up. I am a good Muslim girl, and what we did was a sin. A sweet, pleasant sin. I cannot fight it. My heart aches for it too much. All I can do is wake.
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