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She gasped, then began to moan quietly as the needle danced over the engorged button of flesh. The pressure was never enough to draw blood, but sufficient to deliver minute quantities of the drug just below the surface of the tender nipple. He returned the needle to the shining vial, wetting the tip again and again, until both nipples lay wet and glistening in the harsh light.He stopped, watching the circles surrounding her nipples darken to an angry red. She gasped as the tickle of the needle turned to burning twinges, finally subsiding to a constant, mild irritation that made her squirm and pull against her bonds.And then he was gone. The darkness surrounding the bed simply swallowed him. She called out to him, begging him to return, to extinguish the fire that had started at her breasts and now crawled methodically through her, seizing her cunt with raging urgency. Her cries echoed through the room, unanswered. She cried out louder, slim legs now shifting to one side, then the. "I went a bit wild after we divorced," she confessed to me. "I had a stable of stupid studs who were only interested in my pussy. Of course, that was fine with me, since all I wanted was their dicks." Oh, that was another thing, Wendy was plain spoken. In bed or out, she called a spade a spade. Sailors could have taken lessons from her.Anyway, after we'd been seeing each other regularly for half a year, she consented to marry me when I asked. At our wedding I met Denise and Tom, Wendy's kids. They seemed accepting of me, a fact that was confirmed when Tom took me aside to say he was relieved his mother had finally settled down again. I got the impression his mother's divorcee behavior embarrassed him. Tom was – and still is – an architect in San Francisco. He was unmarried at the time. Denise was married and a junior partner in an advertising firm in Chicago.Denise, though not Wendy's biological daughter, behaved as if she was. By that I mean her gestures, expressions, and bearing.
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