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We tooled around the supermarket with Sandy's shopping cart like an old married couple. I thought about getting a few things for my own use, but decided against it, just in case Sandy decided to invite me in, back at her place.On the way to her house from the supermarket, I resumed thanking her, as I'd been doing -- probably too frequently -- all the way back from Cincinnati. With Paul Warren's permission, I'd flown back with Sandy on a commercial flight, instead of accompanying the club."It's OK, Josh," she kept saying. I could tell she was getting a little impatient with me. I guess I was acting too much like a loser."Listen," I said, "we're going to have to work out some sort of professional relationship, here. I'm taking up all your time, and you're not even getting paid." Josh, you paid all my expenses on this trip! I've been eating in good restaurants, living in hotels I would never book with my own money. You don't owe me anything." Now that we're back, I'm still going to want. I know you can see the dampness in between my thighs. I can feel the tightness against my clit, and the heat in the room combined with the way you’re looking at me makes it even more noticeable. Soon your hands are on my hips, forcefully turning me around so that you can admire the slope and sway of my back and the way those white shorts sit so dangerously low. They tease your eye, showing you a hint of the cleavage between the pert cheeks of my ass and giving you a sexy view of the bottom swell of roundness that the fabric cannot hide. You step a little closer to me. Your hand moves the damp blonde hair from the back of my neck. Now I can feel the warmth of your breath against my skin, each inhale and exhale, and I know your adrenaline is beginning to surge. You bend me over just slightly at the waist, forcing both of my hands against the wall in order to brace myself. Next, you issue several hard slaps against my ass. The force of each impact stings wildly and I can feel the burn.
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