He slowed down. As his fingertips were less than an inch away he stopped and rested the heel of his hand against my hair. ‘Please. Please. Please.�... He tapped his middle finger against my wetness. It elicited a mournful sigh from me. ‘More!’ He tapped again, then again. I was sure there was nothing I could do to him at that moment that I would not be acquitted for. He tapped once more and then pressed his finger lengthwise, letting it sink slowly. I came. It wasn’t enough. He slid his finger. Bernard was unconcerned as he produced a second metal flask with similar deliberate high alcohol content masked by saccharine. They were giggly and heading quickly to loose. Their legs were wiggling and their toes flexing. Chastity would choose the moment. She always orchestrated it so disarmingly like it was an accident. There it was; her own nipple slip, then her full breast. Pert and softly rounded, demanding attention, Bernard always thought buttermilk and nipples of Venus, every time this. More

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