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I woke up in his bed the next morning, fully clothed, with a headache that could’ve split granite. His arm was around me. His snores were soft, almost musical. Through his jeans I could feel his hard-on, jutting against the steamy crease of my thighs. My skin sizzled. I felt feverish. With bated breath, I rocked slowly, softly against him, praying he wouldn’t wake. I arched my back, maneuvering my chest into his limp and empty palm. I sighed, feeling the ache unravel inside me. My muscles drew tight. My breath grew shallow. My quivering fingers crept low, ready to put an end to me.But then he yawned, and his comatose arm came to life. I froze, horrified to let him catch me red-handed, and kept deadly still as he rolled over, stretching and rubbing his eyes.“Lord...” he groaned, clutching his head, “just kill me now.”We’d hardly spoken a word since. These past few weeks, I was really afraid that I blew it—that I’d sealed my fate as a drunken and disappointing hook-up. Nothing more. And. At first I was a little unsure what he meant, but then watched Megan raise the hem of her dress and slip her hands underneath, taking the panties down her legs and stepping out of them right there in the middle of the hallway.With just a slight nervousness, I glanced around to see if anyone was near as I followed her lead. Opening the flap of my dress, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and slid them down over my stockings. I stepped out of them, stooped down and picked them up, then handed them to Mr. Marsh with a smile.He thanked us again and walked down the hall, disappearing into his office.Megan and I made our way to the ladies room again to freshen up our makeup.She asked me how I was doing and said, "You only have two appointments left."I told her it has been quite the whirlwind of a day, and to be honest, my body was starting to feel the effects of the repeated orgasms and penetrations. I wasn't feeling sore, but definitely sensitive.She looked at me again, but.
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