I could do anything I wanted, and she would gladly let me. “Claire?” Her voice was barely audible, so thick with blissful, euphoric detachment it ...as barely intelligible. “You okay hun?” I could scarcely decipher the “yes” that emanated from the squirming, wriggling mess over my knee; and could feel the warmth of her sex dripping its honeyed dew onto my knee and felt it trickling down the span of my leg sticking to my leg hairs as it migrated south. I gingerly parted her legs, and was rewarded. Stockings and suspenders were for me at the age of 18 a thing of pure fantisy, no girls my age ever wore them and I often fantasised what it would be like if Vicky came into my office sat on the desk with her skirt riding up to expose her legs and reveal that she was indeed wearing the sexiest garmnets made to man. One particular morning I hade cause to go into recetion where Vicky was sat typing at her desk, I had to kneel on the floor in front of the desk to sort some papers, it was the dsigh. More

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