She laughed. Her laugh was a tinkle, like magic. “No,” she said, lighlty punching his knee. “Not my feet! Come on, let’s play.”“Okay,�... he said, resignedly. He leaned back in the sofa and closed his eyes. He heard her getting up.“No peeking,” she warned.“I won’t,” he agreed. He heard the rustle of cloth, then she stepped closer so that her legs pressed against his. He felt her fingers brush his chin, then they were beneath his nose.“Sniff,” she ordered in a quiet voice.He did. And. Back in the bag my fingertips slide from the top of your leg to its inner thigh stopping at the hem of your trouser. A finger tip follows it along, sliding up, then down. When the ducks were last fed, did you move the bag? No need to ask in which direction! As I'm playing along your inner thigh I can feel your rising warmth now, but the bag is dipping under your coat. You catch my hand, "Would you like a warm drink? In a place more comfortable and not far from here." "Sounds nice." Leaving the. More

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