On mornings like this, even my library of classical music doesn’t offer anything to compete.My mind wanders to the subject of Miss Gee. Nine? She sa...d she’d call. We’ll see. Pickles’ movement catches the corner of my eye. He’s shifted to a resting place on the deck. Twenty hours a day. I think I tracked him one day and he slept twenty hours, getting up only for input, output, and I guess, to stave off bedsores.But who am I to talk? I’m burning an hour, post-breakfast, sipping coffee,. She quite suddenly removes all fingers, almost making me wish I had taken longer, but then I remember that I would not have been allowed orgasm anyway.Trying my best to wad up the paper, I start to gently wipe her crotch.“Well, that isn’t going to do it, is it? Give me a good wipe.”I smell her arousal, and take forever to wipe her juices.“Almost done there?” she sighs.I pull away and go to toss the paper into the toilet, but she beats me to the bowl and slams the lid shut, causing me to look up. More

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