“Is that all right?” “Does he want to fuck me?” “Nothing like that was mentioned,” Drew told her. “And does Melissa want to you to fuck ...er?” “He didn’t say anything about that, either.” “Would you?” “Mention it to them? You want to swap out?” “Not mention it. Do it.” “I told you. I will follow your lead. You’re the one who suggested we could watch them, remember?” “Watch them,” Cheryl said. “Not fuck them.” Drew grinned wickedly at her. “It would be something different.” “I’m not sure I’m into. But there is a bigger obstacle here, one that provides a greater challenge than simple partial paralysis. The enemy," she said, pausing for effect, "is ignorance." What do I mean by ignorance? It's something that, and it pains me to say this, I've observed far too often in my interactions here at St. James. Sometimes it's subtle and hard to define. But it's a broad term, and in fact, there are others close to me who have dealt with it more directly than I have. So, let me stop talking about. I dwelled on it all morning at work. During meetings, interacting with other coworkers, the tiny voice in the back of my mind was hers, and it was saying "tell me about it." She wanted to know details of the self pleasure that was yet to come. She knew that my "kink" tended towards the grotesque or more obvious expressions and acts of lust (much more so than her refined tastes). She had stuck a toe in the gutter of my libido and thrown me a bone in her subtle but very naughty request. My. They had been pre-warned as to what was expected of them. Grace stood up and allowed them to undress her. They were experts and knew where and how long to touch her intimate parts as they quickly pulled off her dress. Oil was applied to her bottom hole and Grace welcomed the rude intrusion. She had prepared herself for this at home with an enema and her pussy was already wet from relating the prior evening’s event and her meeting with Ike. She couldn’t get him out of her mind.She dutifully.
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