He groans quietly and I move my hand a bit quicker, then let go and bite his neck softly. He growls and smiles, sitting up between my legs. I cant wai... any longer, he says, and I get up, kicking off my boots and pulling off my fishnets and red lace panties, hiking up my skirt. I crawl back onto the bed, and he eagerly kneels between my legs, and smiles. You sure we can do this? he asks, his manhood lined up with my awaiting nether region. Fuck yes, I reply, my shyness dissipating. He pushes in. Her legs were perfection and were always shown to their best by her mini skirts. Cathy hated jeans or trousers. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you guys trying to see what colour knickers I have on,’ she once told me. Cathy had a brain too, she was brighter than the three of us put together, and she worked as a librarian in Chingford. She brought a level of intellect to our debates as well a sharp and distinctly lascivious humour. To be honest, I had had a serious crush on Cathy for years.. More

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