Her hands were still trapped in her torn blouse and bra, now trapped between her hips and the ottoman. When she tried to sit up, her lean abdominal mu...cles rippling with the effort, he swooped down, grabbed her ankles and pulled her feet off the floor to the height of his waist, preventing her from rising.She struggled against him, but was not seriously trying to escape, merely flexing her muscles, further arousing him.When he spread her legs, her skirt slipped past her knees. Her ineffectual. She could wear it in four or five or six months. I then had a snack, checked out and took a taxi to the airport.The short flight to Melbourne was just that. I was able to read more of Seven Kinds of Ambiguity on the long leg to Perth. Weena was waiting for — still excited. "PSM! You can service me in public whenever you want! Well, you may not want to for the next day or three."As we drove home, I retold the tale. We decided to be modest, not ostentatious. I'd keep the medal in its box, not on. More

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