A Club Coquette Tale
Copyright 2011 Cheyenne West
All rights reserved
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I pushed my key into the lock and twisted the doorknob.
The door swung open on the small unlit foyer. I stepped inside and threw the door closed, and for one moment I stood in the darkness, waiting. Almost expecting Desmond to lunge out of the shadows and force me up against the closed door with my back to him. For him to pin my body with his own, his heavy breath falling on the back of my neck as he dragged my arms around behind me to restrain my wrists. For him to yank my skirt up to my waist, and jerk my panties out of his way, and roughly shove my legs apart.
For him to plunge his endless cock into my scorching folds. For him to use my body for his own pleasure, and inevitably satisfy all of my aching desire along the way.
I sighed. Desmond had moved back to Edinburgh a year ago. He was a musician. Still is, as far as I know. He used to cook me dinner after he fucked me in the small unlit foyer. I think he felt guilty. But he was a competent chef, so I didn't stop him.