”I looked behind me, no queue. No one, no nothing at all. A few clouds, maybe, far off in the distance, but definitely no queue behind me.“I can�...t see no queue.” I told The Voice, with an element of challenge. I was fast becoming one dissatisfied Customer.“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” The Voice was really getting tetchy, now, “Mr Russell Charles Atkins, who prefers to be called Charlie.”“Why wouldn’t I see a queue, Mr Human Reception, formerly known as St P?” Two can play at that game.“Say. She was definitely a woman who believes in sex.Marcia was very pleased and asked me back for supper at six.And supper was delicious. A salad, fried taters and onions, and a t-bone steak. Soft piano music could be heard and the lighting was low. Marcia was surprised I knew of Chopin's works.A Baldwin grand sat in her parlor and I played her a few pieces. But she had ideas of playing a different tune.She was on the sofa with her blouse and bra off as well as her gold square glasses with those. “They’re only showing the bad bits,” I said. “Oh they should show all the good bits should they?” she asks in a sharp revoke. I say nothing more for a while. Then the Russians came. The last Germans units were killed or fled the ruined city as it was liberated, and the pianist had lived through it all to play the tale. We had sex later. Emotionally charged; a bit sad, as if this might be our last fuck, as if I were being deported tomorrow. Suddenly I felt divine clamping and the draw starts to. It didn’t take long before she felt her self begin to lose control, the throb of the Harley between her legs turning her legs to jelly as it filled her cunt. In no time at all her panties were soaked with her juices, and there was a damp stain on the crotch of her shorts, making her thankful that the bike was too loud for her soft moans to be heard over. Had they stopped somewhere along the way and had their way with her, she’d have been ripe for the plucking.The party turned out at to be near.
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