We had brunch and tried to go about our usual Saturday tasks but to say we were distracted would be an understatement (like saying Hitler was a little...annoyed with the Jews!) One thing I did notice was that where Tracey had been attempting to do her homework, there was a definite damp spot on her seat which I couldn’t resist furtively sniffing (I blame the hormones). Definitely pussy juice. Since I also had now changed into just a Tee shirt, I’m sure I was leaving similar territorial. I looked at Emily, my sweet, innocent wife, and asked her if she liked what she had seen. "I saw you staring at the painter's junk," I teased. "Would you like to see it?"Emily's eyes grew wider. She shook her head back and forth. "Of course not," she murmured; "I wasn't looking at anything."But her actions said otherwise. By this time, I would have expected Emily to have slapped me, slapped the painter, and stormed out of the room. Instead, she was still lying there, with me inside of her, legs. I heard him talking to someone as they walked into the playroom together. “Isn’t she beautiful Master P” “She certainly is David” oh god, his voice was so smooth and deep, she felt herself growing not just wet, but soaking as she knelt and couldn’t suppress a shiver that ran through her body. Paul laughed, he nearly always had that effect on women.“Nice room you have here David” she heard both men remove their clothes, but didn’t dare look up. “Good kitten. Crawl and greet Master P” she crawled. Mr. Blackwell was a fair but strict man, and he didn't like to be crossed. So to keep from getting in trouble myself, I rushed into his room with his coffee. "Mr. Blackwell, Sir," I said as I walked into his room with his coffee. "Julie, get in here girl," he growled. I slowly walked towards him and set the tray of coffee on his table with a spoon and some sugar. "I do not like what I see, Julie. I am very disappointed," he said. "I’m very sorry, Sir. It was chilly this morning and then in the.
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