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And she doesn’t shirk, will work as many hours straight as I need her to.Plus, she likes Walker. Flirts with him when he visits. In general, I like people who like my son. Nevertheless, I’d had the Sullivans background her. Before I trusted the Uber driver to become my accomplice in tailing the Nelson workers.Felicity is in her 30s, close enough to 40. Pretty, in a demure way. Medium height, medium weight, brunette. Good smile.She drops me off in the Financial District, time for some old fashioned B & E at chez Emmonds.The elevator drops me where it’s told to on Four and I walk to Josh’s door just like I belonged there. It took me almost three and a half minutes to finesse his lock, I time myself. Just a habit.I know he’s out, Felicity and I watched him leave. But I make a quick tour anyway, just to be sure there are no overnighters still lurking.Nope.She’ll call me if he returns.The living room is still messy, ditto the bedroom. Didn’t make his bed, Josh. Of course I’m now above. Interminably she stroked and kissed and I lay still, as still as I could. I even think, in recollection, that I held my breath but my memory is clouded with so many different sensations. Slowly she moved so that her arm left my neck and she lowered her head to my belly and now her tongue did slip from between her lips and left a damp trail across me, around my navel and the cool of her tongue felt like the heat of a candle, so did it burn me. I groaned and felt her tongue lick around the waistband of my knickers. She made no attempt to remove them but now her finger was moving under the loose leg of the silk knickers and stroking ever closer to my pussy. Her hair brushed against my stomach as she licked me and her finger grew ever closer to my core. I wanted desperately to feel her enter me again, as she had when she’d held me away from her, looking into my eyes. And then she was. Her finger touched my lips and I knew they were already swollen and my entrance wet and ready. Her.
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Cheep.”Morales had the distinct impression it was asking for food. “No. No. No. Go to Momma,” he said, pointing. “There’s plenty of chicken food over there by her.”“Cheep. Cheep. Cheep,” it argued. Somehow, the tiny little fluff bucket made the cheeping sound insistent.Sighing, Morales stood to drag on his clothes and hang the bed hide up. He had shortened the hen’s cord so she couldn’t reach his bed to shit on it again, but he worried about the chicks. Then, staring down at the yellow ball, he gave up. “Ah, fuck. Come on. Let’s see if you’ll eat jerky.”It would – ravenously.The hen, apparently giving up on ordering her progeny back to the nest, had decided to eat her own breakfast. Morales, busying himself with starting a pot of coffee and pouring his first cup, had not paid much attention to what the hen was doing. Eventually, something caught his eye and he looked toward the clucking chicken. Coming quickly to his feet, he hurried closer.“One, two, three, four, I think,” he.

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