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The hand drifted lower, urging my legs apart, as her mouth lowered to my exposed left nipple. I gasped, then tried to stifle the moan that followed. S...e stopped suckling and looked into my eyes again. ‘Don’t hold back,’ she ordered softly. ‘Just let it happen, okay?’ I nodded, too out of breath to answer, and arched my back as the mouth regained my nipple. She was rubbing rhythmically, up and down across my clit, up and down. ‘You like that, don’t you?’ she asked, needlessly. I moaned a. Every Sunday afternoon she was seen to drive her car out of the Grove, to return around 5 p.m. This gave rise to the rumour that she went to see a lover. Her house, or more accurately cottage since it was called ‘Rosella Cottage,’ was an oddity in the Grove. It was of mid-nineteenth century vintage and had been built by a market gardener. In the nineteen sixties the developers moved in and put up what they described as ‘Executive Residences,’ one of which was eventually occupied by me and my. More

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