Christmas day was the incredibly painful trek over to the grandmother's place, listening to my fuckhead uncle talk about himself all day and trying to...look interested. By the time we left I was dying to get drunk, and that's precisely what I did when I got back to my hotel room. I was on my fifth bourbon and coke, watching television when my mobile rang. I toyed with the idea of letting it go to voicemail, but instead I answered."Hello," I slurred."Dave it's Tenneille, how are you?" came the. Most had one thought foremost in their mind:"It wasn't me this time."Lessa looked up and saw Don entering the bay. He stopped and let the funeral party go by, face expressionless, before walking over to the still gathered crowd. Shelly was with him, distraught. Lessa wanted to tell her this wasn't her fault ... well, not much her fault. That would have to wait. Don spoke."Everyone ... spread out and find somewhere to sit. Kine, Lessa ... Brat..." This broke the tension a bit, drew out some. She was not me.I was Amelia.Not her.~~~~~*Chris*“She is a good catch,” Hugo boomed as he raised his beer into the sky in a toast, “Another job successfully done.”I stayed silent, the rest of the crowd cheering on with a bunch of hurrahs; their yells melting in with the loud song blaring in the pub. The night was ill, and even through my coat— which always kept me warm— I felt the cold.Something was nagging me… and I was not satisfied with what we had done today.“Yo, what’s the matter, man?”. While delayed gratification is great in theory, I think this particular female wanted me to get to the point. Bailey had probably been thinking about it all day and worked through any qualms. Starting with my hand on her pussy would also cross the last line of trust between us.I wet my right hand with oil. After setting the jar down, I put my dry hand on Bailey's ass. She pushed her hips up, making her pussy available to my touch. I placed the middle finger of my right hand on her anus, leaving.
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