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Still afraid to speak, wary that a sound might send him scurrying, I quirked my fingers again. Come. He did. Still slowly, moving gently, almost. The boards of my attic bedroom, in my poor husband's old, creaking house, did not sound beneath his steps. His face was still shaded when he reached for me, but that only made the first touch sweeter. My thief was who I wanted him to be, like that. As he ran a shaking hand into my hair, brought another down to join my own on my breast, he was a desert prince divesting me of my silken robe. As he settled on the edge of my bed, warmth and solidity at my side, he was an immoral brother, tempted and desperate. As he lowered his mouth to my neck, trailed his fingers down my belly, he was husband. He drew my gown up my legs and was Saint Valentine himself. But when he took his tongue to my skin and his fingers, hardened by larceny, quickened, delved where I was most eager, he was a thief broken into my home in a moonless night. He was invited. . Jeanette smiled & then pressed her big, soft lips against his, pressing harder & forcing his apart with her long, skilled tongue, sliding it into his mouth in a long wet kiss that lasted for ages. She could feel his arousal as she grabbed the bulge in his pants causing him to whimper. She moaned into his mouth, tonguing the boy harder, deeper, reveling in the forbidden kiss. She pushed him away & stood back, watching him & admiring the tiny bulge in his loose trousers. She trailed her hand down his chest all the way to his bulge, trailing her hand across it & causing the boy a sharp intake of breath. But he stood his ground as she had taught him, letting her touch him. “You’re growing into quite a sissy maid.” she told him, “I’ll have to have a serious discussion with you about sex.” The boy was red as a beet root, embarrassed by her affection. She turned him & patted his firm little bottom, sending him off to bed. “Sissy here’s mommy’s panties to play with.” She reach under her.
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