I don’t know how long but judging from her arousal probably for a while. I hear her voice, barely audible over the rushing water. Two simple words. ...poken clearly and with authority as an instruction, but carrying underlying layers of tension, lust and need. “Don’t stop”. I resume my strokes. Long and firm. Squeezing and gripping. I stare into her eyes, now dark with longing. Her mouth is open and she is gasping for each breath, sucking in irregular gulps of air, her wrist a blur. And suddenly,. The shooting in Connecticut terrified and depressed her. She briefly wondered if she should cancel tonight. Screw it, she thought. She was tired of living scared all the time. Scared of men, scared of life, scared of feeling like a failure. She showed up at the club on time. Actually, she was a bit early. She was dressed head to toe in black: black push up bra (and Janet was surprised at how big her breasts looked) black lace briefs that thankfully covered her stomach, black stockings, black. More

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