I climbed the stairs to our bedroom. She was ready. Submissively on all fours on the bed, with just her lace knickers on. My oriental beauty! I lowere... her knickers and could smell a gamey, turned-on aroma. Her dimpled arsecheeks seemed to beckon to my cane. But first I ran my hard hands across her beautiful skin. I couldn't resist probing and teasing her neatly-trimmed cunt and her arse with my fingers. Something was telling me to rim her rose, and I duly did so, tucking my crook-handled. Miserable. Unloved. Unlovable. In her mid-forties still a virgin, and not by choice. No man would have her, it seemed. For that matter, she could hardly bear her own company. "I love you ... ha, ha, HA!"Then, in the depths of despair and self-hatred, the realization struck her. Someone once had professed love for her ... even if it had been a malicious lie. Arlene, in the guise of Val, had spoken words of love. That was enough. There had to be a certain compelling logic in I love you that. More

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