"When she left the coffee shop, she crossed the street and stood at the railing. Looking wistfully at the water. Drinking her coffee. Preparing for he... day at her job. I crossed also and sat on a bench nearby doing the same. For me it was part of my daily routine. For her, it seemed she had found a new place of beauty and solitude to assist in steeling herself to face the day.We are aware of each other's proximity. We are aware that we are the subject of each other's reverie. We are each aware. She couldn?t hold back any longer. She squirted. ?My, my, my, you areenjoying this aren?t you? I haven?t seen a woman squirt that much since thelast time I played with my wife.? And his fingers kept at it. He was an artist.His fingers alternated between her lips, siding deeper into her pussy, andrubbing her clit. He seemed to have the knack for bring her to the very edge,hold her there for a while, then slow down just enough to keep her fromcumming. ?Please, I need to cum.? She pleaded. ?What. More

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