I wore my robe in the evening and mornings. I could feel her pussy open on top of my dick. She would lean back on me and put my arms around her, making sure one arm was resting touching the bottom of her little tits. She would sigh real big and then always had an itch between her legs. Up came her night gown a little, and she would reach under it and scratch? I couldnt see but I could tell she was rubbing her clit. A slow finger movement that took a long time to scratch? ….No way, she obviously was rubbing her pussy. One time she said: Now dont look. I smiled and closed the one eye she could see. She smiled and raised up to see my other eye open. She raised her night gown up more and put one hand in her panties. That hand lifted her panties up for the other hand, with he other hand she was scratching by her pussy. She took a long time scratching something and her breathing increased. She checked smiling to see of I was looking. I blinked to take a peek. She grinned and said:. The tip was deeply embedded in the wood while a scant pair of lacy, black panties dangled from the handle. He picked up the panties and held those to his face as well. They, too, held the scent of her natural perfume. He felt an unrelenting wave of sadness pour over him as he thought of how the scent would fade from her garments just as the scent of another perfume had faded from the notes she wrote him. Everywhere he went that weekend, Abel was looking over his shoulder as if he expected to find someone following him. He strained to notice the unnoticeable, but it was an empty exercise. He knew Nyx was anything but unnoticeable. On Monday, he purposely ignored strangers as he went to work, walking from the parking garage to the deli where he bought coffee. The street. The Congolese woman at the newsstand. People coming and going in the building. Ghosts crowding around him in the elevator. Another note was waiting on his desk. Apparently I was never the fire but the ashes all.
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