I needed to find that stranger; I needed to feel his shaft inside me once again. I was a ball of frustration, and the slightest object could set me of...: a banana, or any other phallic food really; sliding a key into a lock; plugging in an electrical cord into a socket. Last time I vacuumed, I tried out the sucking attachment on my snatch, sticking it right on top of my clit, and I might have cum if Marshal didn't interrupt me. At any moment my cunt would get sopping wet, that desperate ache to. ‘I suppose you wish for me to tell you some tired cliché about how I won’t bite.’ he says. This time the full force of his British accent hits me, and I smile more naturally. ‘Well,’ I laugh, ‘it’s not as if you will, is it?’ He stares at me for a long moment, those dark blue eyes unfathomable. ‘Yes.’ he says finally. I blink, since it’s an unusual answer, but I doubt he means what I think he means. At least, I hope he doesn’t. I think I hope he doesn’t. God, I’m confused. He strokes my throat. More

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