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”She froze and looked back at him. “My blue shorts?” Her eyebrow rose behind her bangs.“Did I stutter?”“No. They don’t fit me so well anymore.”“Daddy knows that.” He winked.Rachel smiled. “Okay,” she said with a hint of curiosity, but she didn’t question him. Marcus made a mental note to reward her obedience later. When they arrived at the court, volleyball was half-over. They apologized to their team and the team they were scrimmaging against, but the players waived off any concern. The entire league was made up of professionals, and at one time or another it seemed they’d all been late due to some work-related issue. While a competitive bunch, they played for fun and exercise. No one batted an eye as they adjusted from their four-on-four game to six-on-six.Marcus stood in the back row while Rachel took her place along the net, directly in front of him. He stared at her body once again, his mind working over what had happened since they'd left the house. The immediate change. That was a mistake... There smiling faces faded away. They stopped in the hallway and the hung guy whispered into the other man's ear. The average guy walked past me and opened the door. The hung guy shoved me inside and quickly hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign, locking the deadbolt and chain. I was pushed over to the glass door that overlooked the pool. The hung guy took off his trunks and came over to me. He stared at me intensely and my eyes balked away down to his meat that dangled between his legs. Nothing was said for a good minute. Then he placed a hand on my head,pushing me down onto my knees. I knew what I had to do and began kissing his midsection. Tears started flowing as I knew I had crossed a line. I knew some sort of punishment was going to come. After getting the hung guy's cock somewhat hardened, I was gripped around my neck and shoved onto the bed with my head between the average size guy's legs. He was on his knees. He held out his tip for my mouth. As I began to.
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I didn’t want to sit there and take her sly little insults anymore. You understand, don’t you?’ ‘Sure. But now they’ll think you’re an angry writer.’ ‘Well, I’m going to be able to write better if I feel things strongly, won’t I? Now come on, we have to get this apartment looking great before nightfall.’ * * * Their new apartment was pretty when the paint had dried and when all the furniture pieces were in place. The living room was in dark green, sort of resembling a Victorian home, and a large coffee table was weighed with two small statuettes of African deities, a god and goddess facing one another and three large books. On the walls were Steve and Audrey’s collection of art: Steve’s copies of Picasso and Warhol and Audrey’s Degas, Monet and black and white photographs of Audrey Hepburn. When they had finished their work, they treated themselves to an intimate and quiet candle light dinner. Too tired to make love afterward, they talked about the future. ‘I’m going to help you if.

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