At the Café with EmilyEmily put her hand on my knee and my heart began topound. I mean, it could ha
At the Café with EmilyEmily put her hand on my knee and my heart began topound. I mean, it could have been innocent, but I knew it wasn’t – which sheconfirmed by moving it a tiny ways up my thigh.“You’re wearing panties, I suppose?” she asked witha note of approbation in her voice.“Yes, ma’am,” I answered quietly. We were definitelyin ‘ma’am’ territory here.“And why is that?”I had no answer except something like ‘of course Iam’ – so I just stammered a “well, you know’…”“And are they wet?”I blushed, or blushed more. “Damp,” I answered truthfully, “And… gettingwetter, ma’am.”“Hmmm. Can’thave you touch yourself,” she complained.“Did… you want me to?” We were inpublic, after all.She took my hand in both of hers. My heart-pounding didn’t lessen. “These two fingers,” she showed me, “Upinside… this far.”“Here?” I squeaked, knowing the answer.“There,”she said, nodding toward me.I tried to swallow, hard, but my mouth was dry.“You know when I get you home, what I’ll do to you?”“Anything you want?” I guessed automatically.“Of course…”“Will you have to spank me?” I asked, or requested,maybe, or begged.“Not your bottom, no,” she promised.So – the crop, I suppose… little smacks insensitive places, lots of them… or pinches, or both…I was so wet… so so wet… it’s a good thing I do have panties on, I thought… But the look in Emily’s eyes… well, maybe not… -- source link
#emily-and-lauren